Good To You
by TheQuietAwakening
Summary: We're both broken, but maybe, just maybe, together we can heal. Based on the song 'Good To You' – Marianas Trench *Dramione, Begins two and a half years after the war, compliant with DH except epilogue, COMPLETE*
1. With Everyone Around

**Summary:** We're both broken, but maybe, just maybe, together we can heal. Based on the song 'Good To You' – Marianas Trench *Dramione, Begins two and a half years after the war, compliant with DH except epilogue, updated weekly*

 **Additional description:** This fic is a bit different. Based off the song 'Good To You', it follows Draco and Hermione as they still try to heal after what happened in the war. Draco deals with his family, Hermione with her friends, and together, they battle the challenges of a world moving on. The first half is first person from Draco's point of view, the second half is first person from Hermione's point of view. This goes with the song as well.

 **Note from the author:** This is something very different from the other stories I have written and, even though I am excited to share it with you, I am also pretty nervous. I am trying to grow as a writer so I hope this is a step in the right direction. I would really appreciate comments, reviews, just letting me know what you think. As I said, nearly every dynamic of this story is new, from the era, the POV, the verb tense, the plot. So, I hope you like it and here's the first chapter.

 **Disclaimer: The song 'Good To You' is by Marianas Trench and the characters and world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.**

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Chapter 1 – With Everyone Around

November 25, 2000

Why am I here?

This is not some existential question. I am standing in the middle of a banquet hall, dressed up in a suit to give money to a cause my family doesn't believe in. We sort of have to, I mean, at the moment, not many people want to deal with us. My family is seen to be associated with Death Eaters, Voldemort, the enemies in the brutal war. We're trying desperately to change that – well I am.

The music is playing but no one is dancing, simply mingling. I hear the mutter of empty small talk and fake conversations as I walk through the crowd.

It took a lot to get me here today. My father – and you are correct if you hear tension in the word – prohibited me from coming. We argued quite a while about the why behind my decision. The family name. I am tired of being looked upon with fear and disdain and this is one step in the right direction.

He said the price did not outweigh the rewards to such a quest. I disagree, but his chief point was that tonight, I would be surrounded by the people we believe are inferior; blood traitors, mudbloods, half-breeds.

'We' is a very general term I throw around to say 'my family'. These are no longer my own beliefs, but I live under their roof so I must comply with how we are.

I'm looking for someone as I scan the groups of people around me. She spoke just a few minutes earlier about the importance of werewolf participation in society, the importance of werewolf support. I had thought the ministry shut down this department, but apparently, I was misinformed. But the woman who spoke about such things that 'we' do not believe, I recognized her, and now, I must find her among the falsity chatters.

I move a few more paces and come to a new group. That frizzy hair, that smile, that passion for underprivileged creatures. I would know her anywhere. Her hair is cut short, somewhere between chin and shoulders, and slightly more tamed than it had been when I previously saw her. Hermione Granger

She turns and sees me, smile faltering for only a second. I try to tell her it's alright, that I'm not here to ruin anything, but she is still with the group and my eyes are not all that specific.

She excuses herself from those she is talking to and makes her way towards me. My heart leaps to my throat. The question remains. Why am I here? Why am I hunting down this woman, this woman I haven't seen in years?

Her smile drops completely as she stands in front of me and my words fail. It strikes me that she has grown into a spectacular woman. And what have I become?

"What are you doing here?" she asks curtly.

"I wish to donate," I inform.

Her brows raise. She's surprised.

"Why?" she's suspicious. She has a right to be.

It takes me a moment to respond. I have been asking myself the same question all night. I was the one who wanted to be here, but I feel out of place, lost. I realize what I really want has nothing to do with the Malfoy name and more to do with me.

"I want to change," I say and she's surprised again.

"Fine, the box is over there in the corner, by the stage."

I realize she's avoiding my gaze, has been since she came to talk to me. She's in my presence and she feels what everyone else does; fear, disdain.

I find myself wishing she would look up. Her eyes are beautiful, telling. I don't want her to be afraid of me.

"I am not my father," I tell her as I push past towards the stage.

I feel her eyes on me, but I don't turn around. I stay purposeful in my strides. People have seen me here, and once I have donated, I can leave. My quest has been fulfilled at this particular location.

I see her, even though I can't. Granger is everywhere, but nowhere. She haunts the space behind my eyes; her beauty, her strength, her passion. I don't recall seeing her in the news lately. Potter is everywhere, famous as ever, and Weasley was in the spotlight for the first little while after the war. But Granger, she wasn't. And maybe that was simply who she was, not desiring the attention of the boys, but I sense something.

Tonight, she was confident, funny, outgoing, until she saw me and we were somewhat alone. Something is off but I can't quite place it.

It is time for me to leave, I can't talk to her now. I fight the desire to find her again. I want to ask her how she has been, these past two and a half years cannot have been easy and I know nothing. I fight the urge to talk with her again and make my exit.

I push through the people one last time and escape into the crisp November air. It fills my lungs and forms a puff of white as I steadily exhale. It is nearly midnight and I must be going. I attempt to drive her image from my mind as I walk to the point of apparation but she lingers.

Reaching my destination, I concentrate on where I want to go; Malfoy Manor. I cannot wait to escape the event, but at the same time, I don't want to leave. Banishing the strange thoughts from my mind, I turn on the spot and feel the push and pull and stretch of disapparation – such a unique sensation – and end up outside the gates of the place I reluctantly call home.

After everything that has happened there, I have to remind myself it is over. The walls have changed, the furniture new and not stained with blood and dark magic, but the outside appearance is the same. Every time I enter I have to tell myself: Voldemort is dead, the terrors are over, the manor is simply a house, the place I call home.

"How was the party?" mother asks as I enter the sitting room and sit beside her on the sofa.

She waits for me to come home. She has ever since I was marked, terrified that I might not return. It's sweet, she loves me, but I am sad that she still feels the need. The war was hardest on her, even though she wasn't supposed to be directly involved. My father was supposed to protect her, protect this family, but instead he brought ruin, pain, fear.

"It was fine, mother," I tell her vaguely.

But she sees through me, always has been able to do so. I've never quite figured out how.

Her mouth spreads into a thin smile.

"There was a girl," she prompts.

I sigh. There is no hiding anything from this woman.

"How do you know?"

"Your face says it all darling. You glow," she tells me.

"Of course it does," and I can't help but smile. "Hermione Granger was there. Haven't seen her in a while. Seems to be quite successful in her field," I explain.

"There's more," mother inquires.

I shake my head, astounded by her perception.

"I didn't even really speak to her. But I can't get her out of my head," I say.

"Hermione Granger. She is Potter's friend, correct? The one who was brought here during the war?"

The words chill me. Yes. She was brought to the manor during the war. That night haunts me. Her screams, echo off the inside of my scull even years later. She was tortured by my aunt and sometimes, I wish I could forget.

She never will.

"I think you should talk with her."

I look at my mother, surprised. She holds the same pureblood ideals that my father carries, yet, she suggests I associate myself with a muggle-born.

"I think it would help you," she clarifies. "I see how you struggle."

I shake my head. "She's afraid of me."

"Are you sure?"

I'm not. I assumed. But it is a probable conclusion. I stood there and watched her be tortured in my own home and did nothing. I was coward. I said nothing. And I hate myself for it every day. Because I was a coward, and she has a constant reminder of it.

"She won't want to talk to me," I say definitively. "I'm the last person she wants to see."

"Alright, I won't push you to do things you don't want to do."

"Thank-you," I respond, knowing she just doesn't want to be my father.

"I'm going to go to bed. You should as well." She smiles and stands, smoothing her hands down her robes.

I stand as well, give her a kiss on the cheek and tell her goodnight.

A few minutes later I am wandering the manor trying to forget, I need to forget. Granger would be better without me re-entering her life, bringing forth horrifying memories of a night she doesn't need me, to remember.

I see her face in my mind as I walk the halls; her smile, her laugh, her outgoing personality – all fake. The somewhat shy, avoidant, curious Granger – that was real – and I want to know more.

But I can't. I shouldn't. But I want to and know I'm wrong to. Not because of some blood purity belief, but because she is better without knowing me, and who I've become.

"Draco," I hear my father's voice and stop walking. "How was it?"

"Not now," I reply without looking his direction.

"How were the blood traitors and mudbloods and half-breeds my son?" I can hear the sneer in his voice. He never truly approved of me going.

"It was fine. I showed my face, donated, and moved us one more step out of this dark reputation. You should be happy," I tell him.

"Happy? You are defiling the name, not saving it!"

"Your opinion on the matter isn't completely wanted," I say, knowing it will get under the man's skin. "I am going to bed."

I continue to the West wing, never looking back at the man who gave me life – and took it away. It isn't that I don't care for the man, he's my father, but he hurt my mother, let Voldemort into our home, and contributed to the factors leading to my getting the Dark Mark that still stains my left forearm. And his idea of the connotations the Malfoy name should possess are very different from my own.

I enter my room and shut my door, thankful to finally be alone. Both parents interested in my night is a strange occurrence and one I don't find particularly pleasant. I am no longer a child and do not need my parents to question my every move. I understand my mother only wants to be a part of my life, make sure I am okay, so it's alright that she asks. But my father, he is only concerned that I don't destroy his view of how the Malfoy name should be.

I collapse onto my king-sized bed and for a moment, wish that my room was more cheery. Grey walls, black furniture. It currently represents my life. No more is there black and white; black and grey are what remain. Living in a family where hate is the expected, that's black. Having to take over the family business that entails sitting behind a desk and looking at the financials of the Malfoy fortune, that's grey. My future is bleak, full of black and greys that I can't escape from, at least not right now.

But that's how it has to be.

For now.

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 **Author's Note:**

 **Hey guys! Welcome to my new story. If you are, or have been, reading my other stories, 'The Fall' won't be put on hold because of it, I'll have another chapter up tomorrow, sorry 'Pretty Little Choice' readers, that one will be put off a little while longer, but I am planning on getting back to it eventually. I should have updates for this one posted regularly. I am still looking for a job for the summer, so right now, this is the only thing I really have to do.**

 **Thanks for reading! I anxiously await your thoughts.**


	2. No Words

Chapter 2 – No Words

January 16, 2001

Diagon Alley is quiet at this time of year, especially on a Tuesday afternoon. We needed to purchase some potion ingredients and I was happy to take the task, anything to get me away from the Manor. It becomes suffocating when all you do each day is look at numbers and sit indoors.

The sun is out, even though the ground is still quite icy and the air is cold, but it's bright and the cold feels good on my face. The street looks different than before, new, but still holds memories from my childhood, of purchasing books and supplies, preparing to go back to Hogwarts. Even after the war destroyed the stores and their owners, making the alley bleak and diminished, now, they shone with hope.

It is nice, nice to see that the world is still turning, that people are moving on, that life is still there in a place so ravaged. I walk along the street, admiring that hope, and how it makes me feel. It lightens me.

I feel dark, but it lightens me.

Then I see her. I see the girl I tried to forget, tried to push from my mind this past month. I see her disappear inside Flourish and Blotts, the book store, and I think, of course she would go there.

I follow her. I shouldn't, but I do. I will keep my distance and won't let her see me, I'll hide among the shelves and if she notices, I'm simply searching for a book. I know it's wrong and I know I shouldn't, but I allow myself to slip in the door behind her.

I move between the shelves, pulling out a random book, not bothering to check what the title is. That doesn't matter to me at the moment. Granger has been invading my thoughts ever since the party and as much as I have tried to fight it, tried to forget, she's still there. My mother's words have been echoing in my mind, not giving me a rest, not allowing me to acknowledge how bad of an idea it would be.

Talk to her.

Oh, how I want to. I want to know her. I want to discover what made her this way, what gave her this need to fake a stage presence but become so . . . different when out of the spotlight. I wonder if it was just me and the past we share and if it is, I know I shouldn't step forward and make things worse. But how do I know that it's me? How do I know for certain that this would be such a terrible thing? And I want to know her.

In this moment, it doesn't matter that it's wrong, it doesn't matter that I shouldn't, the desire wells within me as I watch her drag the tips of her fingers along the spine of a book. She gently removes it from the shelf and flips through the pages, turning it over to read the back. She opens the book to the center and I am curious to know what she's doing. She leans her head in close and I understand.

I find myself smiling as I realize she's smelling the book, smelling the scent of the ink on new paper, or maybe it's old, I can't tell from where I am. If you do not read often you would not understand, but I do. The scent of a book tells a story just like the one it contains. Each is different, each holds a future memory, or a past one.

Granger smiles, just a bit, and shuts the book, heading to the counter to purchase her find. I'm curious to know what it is. But I stay where I am. I don't want to impede on such a moment.

She smiles at the shop keeper and talks quietly with him as she pays for the book, the newfound treasure. But it's fake and I recognize what she's doing. She's being kind and asking about his day, about his family, and that kindness is real, but the smile and confidence, that is forced.

I recognize it because it mirrors myself. The world believes things about me and I must comply with what they want. A smile here, a disengaged laugh there, throw in an arrogant shrug, and all for the press. Because I'm supposed to know what I'm doing, know who I am, be confident and easy. If I am who they want me to be, they will eventually accept that I'm not a monster.

And I see what's behind it as well, what is behind the forced act. I know because I am too. Broken. Even in the two and a half years since the war we have not healed.

But she has friends, she has people who support her, who help her. She will heal. I have my mother, who tries her absolute best for me. But my friends, I can no longer call on them. They do not understand. They still hold blood purity over all else, disappointed in Voldemort's defeat. We witnessed terrible things, were made to complete tasks that were even worse, but they don't see those things in the same way I do.

I watch Granger as the store keeper hands her the book and she thanks him, stuffing it into the bag she has slung across her shoulder. The door makes a dinging sound as she leaves and I exhale slowly the breath I have been holding.

I put the book back, glad that she didn't notice I was there. I wonder how she would react if she knew. Would she be afraid?

Looking back through the window at the front, I see she's still there, digging around in that bag for who knows what. And I also see the sleek patch of ice directly in front of her. Does she see it? From where I stand, the sun reflects off it's surface, but can she see it?

I stand still, waiting, wondering what I should do. Surely she sees it, and I shouldn't worry. But I do, and I realize I care if she gets hurt. I care and I'm not sure if I like that I do.

And I watch it happen. I watch as she finds what she was searching for, closes the bag and takes a step, a step directly ahead. I watch as her foot makes contact with the slick ground and maybe it's fine, maybe she can simply step with her other foot on solid ground and catch herself, but somehow I know.

The boot slides forward, she is slipping on the ice, her feet flying out from underneath her as though they have a mind of their own, and it is almost slow motion as I see her fall. What should I do? If I go I must talk to her, but that's what I wanted, isn't it? It seems so difficult and my heart races. Speaking is difficult as I must find words to say, and she has taken them. Can't we talk without sound, without the need to think straight? Because I can't, I can't and I know it.

But I see how hard she fell and the expression on her face as she winces in pain. And I tense. I want to go. I want to see if she's alright. I know I shouldn't, she doesn't need me.

I give in on a whim and before I even realize what I'm doing I am through that door and my hand is reaching down to her.

"Malfoy?" She's surprised again.

"Hi," I reply. I know that's not what I should say. I am smarter than this! But she has stolen my words by just being there. Why did I do this? Why did I leave the shop where I didn't have to face her spectacular being? Because I saw her pain. "Are you alright?" I finally ask.

I catch the twitch of a smile on her lips and think, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"I'm fine," she says, and her eyes drift to the ground.

I shake my hand a bit to remind her it's there and she reluctantly takes it, allowing me to pull her back to her feet. I feel something. Something slight, but it tingles, beginning in the hand she is touching. It flows through my veins and to my heart, causing it to pick up speed. What is this girl doing to me?

"Thanks," she tells me.

"Are you alright?" I ask again, though this time, not about the fall.

Finally, she looks up at me, those beautiful eyes saying so much. She's curious. Why would I ask such questions about her well-being, the boy who had terrorized her in her youth, the one who had stood there and watched her be tortured like a coward?

"I'm fine," she repeats, but I know better.

I would say the same thing, but nobody asks me if I'm doing alright. I realize she wouldn't tell me if she wasn't alright, she'd tell Potter or Weasley, or anyone but me. But I want to be a person she can tell and I can't decide if I'm being selfish or if I really want to help her, but I do, I want her to be able to trust me.

We stand there, looking at each other, and I'm sure this should be awkward, maybe it is for her, but I enjoy even her mere presence. And she is able to say so much with those eyes, broken as they may be.

I shake my head. "I'm sorry, I'm doing this all wrong. I know we can't start over, but I do want you to know that I'm different than I was. And I think you are too." I say it and I wish I could take it back. It sounds silly and cliché and maybe I should just go home.

But she tilts her head just slightly, narrows her eyes a bit and bites her bottom lip nervously. She's thinking.

Suddenly, she holds out her hand between us. I am thoroughly confused. What does this mean?

"I'm Hermione Granger," she says, a half smile forming. "This is where you shake my hand."

And it clicks in my mind what she's doing. We're starting over. I am amazed that she would do something like this. We're starting over, as though we have never before met, as though we don't have a terrible history together.

I take her hand in mine and she shakes it briefly up and down, eyes, those beautiful eyes, never leaving my own. I swallow nervously.

"I'm Draco, Draco Malfoy," I respond.

An idea forms in my head. Maybe my mother was right. Maybe this would be good for me, for us both. And I want to know her.

But the words refuse to leave my lips, my body, it freezes.

"It's good to meet you, Draco." Her voice is soft and like a wonderful melody to my ears.

"It's good to meet you as well, Hermione." Her name rolls off my tongue like a thing of beauty, as though I have said it my whole life.

I want to ask her. I want to see her again. But I can't. I look at her face, at her gorgeous face and I can't. She steals my words away.

"I must be going." She turns to leave and begins walking away and I am frozen to the spot.

The words are there, on my tongue, but they can't escape the barrier of my mouth. My heart, it races as she grows farther away. I don't think I can last another month before seeing her again, without hearing her voice. I am getting anxious, panic, rising within me as she walks away.

"Will you go for coffee with me?!" The words finally burst through and echo off the walls of the stores lining the street.

She stops, but doesn't turn and I can honestly say I have no idea how she will respond.

"Friday at lunch time? The café down the street?" she asks and I smile to myself.

"I'll be there!" I call back.

I wonder what she's thinking, what is going through her mind as she continues to walk away and out of sight.

I feel something within me. The stone wall I keep standing tall between myself and the world begins to crack. The dark shadowy path beyond that stone wall gets the first shimmer of light it has seen a very long time.

Hermione.

And with even a simple thought of her name, the light grows.

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 **Author's Note:**

 **Hey, my wonderful readers! Thank you all for the amazing response for my first chapter. Your reviews made me so happy! I hope you enjoyed this one as well and would love to continue hearing your thoughts. The chapters are a bit shorter in general for this story as I am focusing for the most part on shorter time periods in the story per chapter, aiming for a more internal look at the action.**

 **I finally got a job! Yay! It doesn't start until June though so I do have a bit more time to focus on writing. I am thinking about speeding up my post time until then for a bit, then go back to weekly posting. Let me know what you think - should I speed it up for a little while or just keep it consistent?**

 **Tuesday is my birthday and I can't say I'm really looking forward to it. I am turning 20, but I am going to be alone all day as my job isn't starting yet and my friends from school aren't from around my area. So, I'm thinking about posting chapter 3 then . . .**

 **Sorry if this note got a bit off topic.**

 **Thanks for reading, reviewing, following/favouriting! I'm excited to hear from you!**


	3. Finding My Breath

Chapter 3 – Finding My Breath

January 19, 2001

It's Friday and I walk into the small café, looking around to see if Granger . . . Hermione is already there. I don't see her so I sit down at a little two-person table by the window. I am so nervous and worried that once I see her, it will happen again, my words will be lost and I will sit here like a fool.

Since I saw her on Tuesday, there was not a single productive moment. My father was not pleased, demanding to know what had me so distracted. I couldn't tell him of course, but my mother, she knew. She always knows.

I have been building anticipation for this moment for days, but now, I can't help but wonder, what if she doesn't show? Would I be hurt? Crushed? Relieved?

I should be fine if she doesn't show. But I know I won't be. I will understand; I wouldn't want to see me either, but yes, it will hurt. All I want is to talk, to have a real conversation. I wish I realized sooner what I know now and treated her better in school, but all that is over, in the past, and we are starting over.

I watch the clock as minutes feel like hours. What if she comes but I can't speak and the conversation I desire never occurs because of my own faltering?

Taking a deep breath, feeling it expand my lungs, I attempt to relax my heart that seems to want to burst forth from my chest. I am nearly shaking and I don't know why. Why am I so nervous to see her?

Because I'm afraid. I'm afraid of rejection, that she won't accept me, that she still thinks of me as the monster I became under the rule of Lord Voldemort. I swore to never again let that name define me, never again let him control my life, but I'm afraid. I'm afraid that's all she'll see, that the man will continue to ruin my life and destroy my soul even after he's gone.

I don't want to be.

I want to be a man who can be trusted. I want to be confident in myself, to know who I am without the shadow of a madman lurking. Because I never discovered my own identity. My father defined me, my friends defined me, professors defined me, Voldemort defined me. But that's not who I am and I want to find that piece of myself that fits.

I saw Hermione and she felt right. For the first time in seemingly forever, I felt hope. And maybe, just maybe, she can help me find that piece I'm missing to put me back together, to put life back into my soul.

But if she never shows, it's all for nothing. I go back to the black and grey that defines my life and never see any colour.

So, I'm afraid.

It seems as though I am always afraid.

And I think back to the first time I saw Hermione at the party. I thought she was afraid of me. Maybe we are together in our fear rather than being afraid of one another. Maybe she needs this as much as I do. I saw how she has become, so much like me, stuck in the dark and desperately trying to find, even the tiniest bit of light.

I see her.

I sigh with relief as I catch sight of her at the door. She seems nervous as well, waiting, possibly for her own nerves to settle. I watch as she takes the plunge, she opens the door and steps inside.

She is wearing a formal skirt and jacket, probably on her lunch break from work. I watch as she looks around, searching for me. Her hair bounces around her shoulders in perfect ringlets and shines in the café lights above.

I get up from my little table by the window and go to her, taking another deep breath and willing myself to be able to speak.

"Hermione," I greet with a smile.

"Draco," she replies with a shy one of her own.

"Can I buy you a coffee?" I ask and she nods, tucking some hair behind her ear. I gesture over to the table I just left. "You can go sit over there if you like, I'll get the coffees and be there in a minute?"

"Sure," she says and walks over to the table, glancing back at me a couple times on her way.

Quickly, I order the coffees and wait, anxious to get to her, yet, terrified of what the next hour holds.

I grab them as soon as they are ready and sit down across from Hermione, sliding one steaming cup across to her.

"Thank-you," she tells me, wrapping a hand around the cup and bringing it to her mouth for a taste.

I have to remind myself not to stare. She wouldn't want me to, and I don't want to scare her.

"So, you work at the ministry?" I ask.

"Yes, in Werewolf Support Services." Her face lights up at even the name of the department she works in. "Kingsley helped me reopen the service and I lead it now."

She has such passion and I admire that. I admire that she followed that passion, even though she had to build the organization from the ground. And . . .wait, did she say Kingsley?

"You're on first name basis with the Minister for Magic?" I am shocked, but not necessarily surprised.

She smiles. "Yes," she simply responds.

I shake my head. I didn't realize she had so much power in the Ministry.

"How is it going? I heard not many werewolves use it," I question.

"It's slow, but going places." She bites her bottom lip nervously. "I'm working on diminishing the stigma of Lycanthropy so more will accept aid. I would like to be able to supply wolfsbane potion to those who want it and eventually earn them positions within the ministry itself."

Wow, she definitely has ambition.

"You seem surprised," she calls me out on my astonishment.

"I'm just impressed is all," I assure her.

I like the way her entire demeanor changes when she talks about the work she's doing. She's doing good in a society that needs, even a bit of the kindness that is bursting from her.

"Why do you do it?" I inquire. I want to keep her talking because of that smile, that glow that erupts from within her when she talks about her work. But the smile fades and I regret asking the question.

"Lupin," she replies and now I understand. The previous Hogwarts professor had been killed in the final battle. "He was a friend and I saw what he went through. Dumbledore gave him a chance that not many others get, but there was a lot of anger towards both Dumbledore and Lupin for that. I learned that werewolves are people first but aren't treated that way. I want to change that."

"Good for you," I tell her.

Though, when I think of werewolf, I get a very different picture. I see Fenrir Greyback and his desire to make people suffer whether he was in wolf form or not. He terrified me, but I guess he was simply an evil person to begin with.

"And what about you," she asks. "Are you working somewhere?"

I shrug. "Sort of. I'm taking over control of the family funds in the next few years. Mostly sitting behind a desk in my study looking over financial statements, investing in companies and such."

"And do you enjoy that?" I love that she believes you can make your work something you enjoy and I am happy for her that she's made her belief a reality.

"Not exactly," I reply.

"Then why do you do it?"

"Because I must. I am the Malfoy heir and I don't really have much choice in the matter."

"What would you do? If you could do anything?"

Nobody has bothered to ask me that question and it makes me think; is this my only choice? I am my own person, I am a grown wizard, does this have to run my life?

I think about her question and immediately know what I would do if I could. But should I tell her? I am not good at being vulnerable, at opening up to people. I have no practice. My entire life I was taught to be strong, not to show emotion, to control my desires, to do what I was told without questioning.

I take a deep breath and decide I've been having to do that a lot today. I've leaped far outside my comfort zone already. What's another step?

"I would be a potioneer, potion-making," I tell her.

She smiles again and it's absolutely gorgeous. "And why potions?" she questions.

"Oh. . . It's just something I enjoy, something I've always been good at." And there is more, much more, but I don't say. I don't tell her about the extent of the passion. As much as I would love to make a living with the one thing that gives me joy, I haven't thought about it as a possibility. A responsibility has been past down to me through the Malfoy line and I can't pass it on to anyone else. I would like to think I could have a choice, but I really don't.

"Potion making is something that I wish I could do all the time, really a spectacular feeling. That was the one class at Hogwarts that I didn't mind having extra work in. And having two completely brainless friends gave me a whole lot of extra potions to make." I surprise myself hearing those words in my voice. Have I ever said them out loud before?

I get a sinking feeling in my chest when I talk about Crabbe. I knew him from before I entered Hogwarts and each time I think of him, I wish I could have saved him. He wasn't the greatest of friends by the end, but I still wish he hadn't died.

She knows. She knows why my face turns from bright to somber in an instant.

"I'm sorry," she says and I know she truly is, but it is not for her to be sorry about.

"Thanks, so . . . um . . . how are your friends? How are Potter and Weasley doing?" I ask to change the topic.

I thought talking about her friends would make her happy, but her light falls, just a bit and I am left confused as a fake smile returns.

"Harry is an auror, a famous one. Everyone wants him on their case. He and Ginny got married last year," she says.

"What about Weasley? Weren't you . . . together?"

She clears her throat. "It didn't work out," and it's obvious she doesn't want to say more.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." Now it's my turn to apologize but I wish I knew more. Something seems off about the way she talks about her friends. Perhaps it was simply a bad breakup and things became tense.

"It's alright," she shakes her head like it's no big deal, but I can see it is. "Do you keep in contact with your friends from Hogwarts?"

"A bit, but we see things differently now." This peaks her interest but I don't want to go into that right now. "I see them at formal events and such, but we aren't close anymore."

I notice her slight head tilt, eyes narrowed, curiously thinking face and know she wants to ask more. It's cute when she does it and I like that I am already getting to know a few of Hermione Granger's quirks.

We talk for a few more minutes before she spies the clock.

"I really must be getting back to work," she announces.

"Alright," I agree, but I want her to stay.

I want to keep talking. I have thoroughly enjoyed this conversation and I want to know so much more about her.

Should I ask her again? What would she say if I did? I don't want this to end.

We both stand up and walk towards the door, which I hold open for her, hating that I do so. I am letting her leave again, and I know I will regret it.

"This was nice," she says. "Really nice." She sounds almost surprised.

"It was."

We stand there in silence and it is as though she is waiting for something. Now is my chance, I have to be brave and just ask.

"I was wondering," I start. "Would you . . . would you like to go for dinner sometime?" I force the words from my lips and get instant relief when she smiles.

"Tomorrow?" she asks.

"Sure." I say. "I'll pick you up at seven?"

"You can floo to my place," she says and pauses. "I really need to go now, but it was very nice talking with you and, I'll see you tomorrow I guess."

"I look forward to it," I express, but I am not sure if she hears me as she is already racing away.

It all hits me hard and fast. Did I mean to do that? I just wanted to see her again and I think I have asked her on a date. And she said yes.

Holy shit, I asked her on a date!

What the hell did I just do?!

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Got this chapter up a little faster. I thought, since I already had it done, I wouldn't make you wait for it. I took a bit of advise and gave it a little more dialogue, I hope it seemed natural. I sometimes feel as though the dialogue can be forced to get the plot across. If you have any thoughts, or tips for me, I would love to hear it. There is something about it that seems off, but as much as I read it, I can't figure out what. Maybe it's nothing and I'm being weird, but if you catch anything, let me know.**

 **It's my birthday today, but I'm just sitting here alone. Posting today gives me something to do and look forward to. I'll be doing some more writing and will get the next chapter up shortly.**

 **Thanks to those of you who reviewed the last chapter and thanks for reading this one!**


	4. No Sound

Chapter 4 – No Sound

January 19, 2001

Dinner is a quiet affair in the Malfoy family, always has been, and always will be.

Silence.

The only sounds are the scraping of cutlery against plates. Though I know it has been this way as long as I can remember, I feel it has worsened since the war. This silence is thick, tense, vast.

"Where were you this afternoon?" And the silence is shattered like a glass thrown across the room, an explosion of pieces falling neatly into the prestigious lap of my arrogant father.

I don't want to discuss this with him. He will tarnish the memory, insult Hermione and prohibit me from seeing her. It is not often that I completely defy my father's wishes but this is an occasion that I would. He no longer has the privilege of controlling my every move, of taking my life into his hands. So I will not discuss that perfect, broken, girl with my father who will do everything in his power to destroy her.

"I was out," I reply, keeping my eyes low, my voice unemotional.

"Out where?" he questions.

"I was out, and that is all you get to know," I tell him sternly.

For a moment, I think he may argue, but I am a grown wizard and he does not have the right to demand my every step outside this manor, this place that has become a prison to me. I am trapped in this home, in this family, pretending to carry beliefs I no longer hold true, just to please a father who has demolished my light.

"Did you have a nice time? Wherever you were?" My mother inquires. She has a talent for getting the information she wants without stepping a word out of place.

I can't help but smile to myself at the difference between the two other people sitting at this table. My father, who wants to control me, and my mother who wants to know I am happy. She understands that there are some things I cannot tell him, things that he would ruin if he knew.

"I did. It was quite . . . refreshing," I respond, careful of the words I use to describe the short time I had with Hermione. "And I think I'll go again tomorrow."

My mother smiles, just a touch, and looks back at her plate in an attempt to hide her pleased expression. I look at the man at the head of the table who is seething in quiet anger. If anyone else was present in the room, they would say he simply seems a bit unhappy, but I can see the hidden emotion behind his eyes.

My response is not what he wanted to know. He does not care that my outing was a wonderful experience, he only desires to ensure that I am playing the correct part, the part that I have been assigned. A good Malfoy.

Sometimes it is as if he believes I have no thoughts of my own, as if I would get lost in life without his constant prodding, when in reality, I am lost because of him. I am lost in a different way than he expects, in a way that would 'defile' the family name if anyone knew.

But I look at my mother and feel comforted that there is at least one person who cares about me. She cares about the things that my father claims are small and trivial. She cares about my happiness and mental well-being; she cares more about me as a person than if I am following her pureblood ideals. And I am comforted.

I am finished with my dinner and the conversation that arose so I slide my chair back and stand.

"Goodnight, mother." I turn to the stiff faced man who only cares for his name and fortune. "Father." I nod respectfully as I make my way from the room and move toward the staircase.

I still cannot comprehend the fact that Hermione Granger could possibly want to go on a date with me. I question my own intentions, what do I want from this? A bit more conversation? A friend? Something more?

I have already made reservations at The Pearl for tomorrow night, the most expensive and sought after restaurant in Wizard Britain. I hope she doesn't think it's too much, maybe it is, but she deserves the best. I am not the best. Not even close. But I can take her to a place that is.

It is truly incredible that I was able to get a reservation only one day in advance, but apparently, a little money can go a long way.

I enter my bedroom but I cannot yet go to sleep. It is still early, so I sit down in my black leather chair and open a book that I know I will not be able to concentrate on. My mind continuously goes back to her, to Hermione, and what I could possibly be thinking. This was surely not what she wanted, not what she had in mind when I asked her to dinner earlier today. She doesn't want me, she doesn't want a date. But she said yes.

There's a knock on my door and I know who it is. My father would send an elf to retrieve me from my room if he wished to speak.

"Come in Mother!" I call, closing the book and setting it back on the shelf beside me.

The door slowly opens and my mother enters and sits in my other black chair when I gesture towards it. Why I have two, I don't know. Perhaps for this very reason I suppose.

"Would you tell me?" she asks and I know she doesn't wish to pry but she is curious. "Were you with her? Miss Granger?"

"Yes, Mother. I was," I reply.

I can see the excitement she is trying to conceal. This was what she wanted. And again, her enthusiasm in this matter surprises me considering Hermione's blood status.

"And it went well then?"

"It did. I . . . sort of, accidentally asked her on a date," I tell her, unsure of what her response will be.

Her brows raise and I can see that she is considering the statement carefully.

"And what did she say?" mother questions.

"She said yes. So tomorrow night, I am taking her out. I'm sure it won't lead to anything."

My mother is silent for a moment, watching my face intently and I wonder what she is thinking. It was her idea for me to talk with Hermione, but surely she would not desire for me to begin seeing the girl romantically.

"And maybe it will," she says, though I can not quite tell the connotations in her voice. Is that something she would be alright with? She sighs, "Draco, darling, you know my beliefs, but I also know you have changed. You have become your own man and I respect that. It may be difficult for me to fully understand, but if she can make you happy, I will find a way to support that. And I think she might. I see how unhappy you have become and that is not what I wanted for you. None of this is what I wanted for you."

I hear the emotion in her voice and know she is being truthful.

"Thank-you," I express. "That means a lot to me." And it does. It means a lot to know that I have someone on my side.

* * *

January 20, 2001

I pace back and forth in front of the fireplace in my study, the piece of parchment Hermione owled me this morning with her address clutched in my fist. Everything is ready and it is nearly time to floo and pick her up for dinner. I am wearing my black suit, the same one I wore to the party back in November and I look absolutely fine on the outside, but inside, I am a mess.

I chuckle to myself. I have never been this nervous to meet a girl in my life. It has always been easy; in school they all wanted to go out with me. But Hermione is different. She is not just some other girl. She is smart, talented, successful, passionate, beautiful, and far too good for me.

I know I need to stop this thinking, this constant doubting, close my eyes and jump off the edge. Because she's in the deep end and knows how to swim; I need to hurry up and learn before I drown in my pool of darkness.

So I take a handful of the green powder and step inside the fireplace, not giving myself any more time to contemplate my possible failures. I take my own advice and close my eyes, tossing the powder at my feet and calling out the address she gave me.

And I am there, stepping out of her fireplace and into her sitting room. Everything is white with a bit of grey here and there and I wonder if it represents her life like my black and grey. It is small and modest, but homey, much more so than the manor. There's a glass coffee table in front of me and beyond it, a white sofa and armchair beside that.

I look behind me on the small mantle above the fireplace and it holds only a few pictures in silver frames; her and her parents, her and Potter, her and Potter and Weasley as children.

"Hello." I turn around at the voice and immediately am struck by such a magnificent being.

Hermione stands before me in a royal blues dress, its sleeves off her shoulders to wrap around the top of her arm, it hugs her waist before falling ever so gently to a pleated skirt above her knees.

"You look beautiful," I tell her, finally finding my words, pleased that they didn't take too long to come.

She bites her bottom lip nervously and smiles. "Thank-you."

"Shall we go then?" I ask, offering my hand.

"Yes," she replies and slides her hand in mine.

Just like the last time we touched, a tingle makes its way through my body, making my breathing and heart rate increase. I look at her. Does she feel it too? If she does, I can't see it on her face.

I apparate us directly outside the restaurant. It doesn't look like much from the exterior, just a regular building with the name hung on the front in gold letters, but Hermione is smiling. And shivering. And I realize she must be absolutely freezing in that dress, outside, in January, so I rush us in the doors.

"Sorry about the cold," I say, thinking that this isn't starting out very well.

"Oh, it's nothing. You got us in at The Pearl? With one day's notice?" she's excited and impressed.

"It's no big deal," I admit. But she is staring at me with wide eyes and her mouth, partially open in shocked delight.

"No big deal? This is amazing!" I'm happy she thinks so.

"Mr. Malfoy," a deep voice calls from behind a podium. I nod. "Right this way."

The man is tall and lean, with tan skin and impeccably dressed. He leads us behind the red curtain that hangs just beyond the podium and into a world of wonder.

The ceiling is an incredible version of the enchanted one at Hogwarts, showing a night sky full of bright, sparkling stars. A narrow pond runs down the center, splitting the seating area into two halves with a small bridge joining them and each table is dimly lit by its own glowing moon floating just off to one side.

The man takes us to a table on the left side of the room and I have to rush ahead just a bit to pull out Hermione's chair. She laughs and it is the most spectacular sound. I wish she would do it more often.

As soon as we are sitting, two menus appear in front of us.

"Draco," she breathes. "This is one of the most incredible things I've ever seen."

"I'm glad you think so," I reply.

"My name is Nigel and I will be your server tonight. Can I get you anything to drink?"

I order us some wine and Nigel nods politely, leaving us to talk.

Hermione opens her menu and she quickly looks up at me, seemingly shocked. She's seen the price of everything.

"Draco, this is far too much!"

"I'm a Malfoy, remember? Don't worry about it, get anything you'd like," I tell her.

She is silent for a moment but gives in. "Alright," she agrees, part smiling, part biting that bottom lip nervously.

When Nigel returns, she orders the poached salmon with dill cream sauce, while I order the roast beef with Yorkshire pudding.

Hermione is smiling and looking at me with that tilted head again.

"What is it?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "It's nothing really. Just, it's a bit strange to be here, with you, on a date." I agree but let her finish. "I know we're starting over, but it's _mad_ to think of where we started."

And it is. I used to bully her, I used to think she was inferior, I used to fight for the opposing side in the war. I feel terrible about all the things I put her through. I realize now how wrong I was in the words I used to describe her.

"I don't think I've ever apologized to you. I was so delusional in school. The things I said about you-

"Are in the past," she finishes for me.

"Yes, but still –

"No, no buts. I don't want to dwell on past mistakes. Been doing that far too much lately. I want to think about the good things," she taps her fingers on the table. "Nice things like pretty gardens or bright colours or . . . whatever else is pleasant." Her smile, her smile is pleasant.

"You don't think those things are a bit superficial?" I ask.

"No. There's a reason for the saying of stopping and smelling roses. The little things matter. They make life a bit more . . . livable, don't you think?"

"Guess you're right, but, since when does Hermione Granger have the time to 'smell the roses'?"

She laughs, but it doesn't truly meet her eyes.

"I'm not all intense and bookish anymore," she says.

"Alright, we'll see about that."

In a few more moments, our food appears before us and the conversation has changed.

"I know you don't really want to talk about the past, but I'm rather curious. I never saw you in the news after the war. I thought I may have simply missed it," I inquire.

Hermione shrugs. "Wasn't really in the news." She puts a forkful of salmon into her mouth, chewing softly. "The boys took most of the credit for the way things went, and I'm alright with that. Never really wanted to be famous."

It is what I expected she'd say, but I see something else, sadness. It makes me angry to think of everything she went through in the war, and to get nothing in return? This shouldn't have happened. She was the one who was tortured by my insane aunt, and she was probably the brains behind everything Potter and Weasley did!

"You had a bigger role to play than Potter, or Weasley. Without you, they would probably _still_ be trying to end the war. It isn't right what they've done," I say.

"They both lost a lot and I don't need recognition," she argues, but I can see how her eyes light up when I tell her I believe in her role.

She went through so much and it is obvious she is still attempting to heal. Now I see that Potter and Weasley may not be as helpful as I thought they could be. Hermione needs someone who understands what went on during the war, someone to lean on, someone to support her.

I want to be that person.

The thought scares me. But it's true. And I don't really know what to do with it.

"You may not think you need recognition, but you do deserve it."

She looks at me. "I may deserve it, but they needed it. Those boys live off their reputations. Thought you would understand."

I stiffen. Yes, my old arrogant self, constantly relying on my name, my family's reputation, to get me through things. I was jealous of Potter's spotlight and I didn't hide that fact.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Don't know why I did," she says, shaking her head and looking down at the table.

"It's alright. I do get it, but that isn't who I want to be anymore." I tell her. "And them, having recognition isn't what bothers me. Its that they took yours."

"If I really wanted to, I could have argued. I could have made my name be seen."

She's right, she could have. But I think of how it would make her friends look if she were to argue her place. It would ruin Potter's perfect reputation.

But I look at her and see that I have put a damper in our night by arguing about this, a topic she didn't want to breach in the first place.

"I have more to say on this, but for now, I can let it go. You wanted to talk about bright colours?" I introduce, bouncing my eyebrows.

She giggles softly and shakes her head again, looking up at me.

The conversation turns down other rabbit holes that end in her, smiling, laughing, and me, thoroughly enjoying myself for the second time in years. We finish eating our food and simply sit there, together, appreciating each other's presence.

"On a typical day, what do you do during your lunch break?" I find myself asking, heart pounding in my chest, wondering what I'm really looking for.

"I go, eat lunch?" she replies, eyes questioning.

"Well," and I may be totally off base, completely out of my mind. "I would love to make this a more regular thing. Well, not _this_ exactly, but . . ."

"You want to go out for lunch during the week?" she clarifies.

"Yes." I'm surprised that she understood my weak suggestion.

"Friday afternoons? Seemed to work last time. Give me something to look forward to during the week?" she's trying to sound confident, but I can tell, she's just as nervous as I am, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and looking down at the, now cleared, table every once in a while.

"Sounds good," I confirm.

I pay for our dinner and we head back outside to apparate her home.

Standing in her sitting room once again, she looks up at me.

"Thank-you, for tonight," she says. "You have _no idea_ how much I've needed something like this."

"I think I might," I reply. "Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Draco."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Here's Chapter 4 you amazing people! Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed, I got some really great comments that will hopefully help me to improve my writing. I am working really hard on creating realistic and interesting dialogue. I hope this chapter is an improvement from the last. Please let me know.**

 **Another question for you guys: the next chapter can either go through a few weeks of meetings between them or skip ahead to when more action starts. I originally skipped ahead, but now I'm not sure. Please give me some thoughts on this as it would be the next chapter that I post!**

 **I really loved writing this scene, but I wasn't sure about a couple parts so I did the best I could.**

 **Thanks for reading, I will hopefully post the next chapter soon. It will be sooner if I have a better idea of what my readers would like to read, so let me know!**

 **Have a great day!**


	5. Not Enough

Chapter 5 - Not Enough

Each week is a new adventure. And sometimes completely insane.

I guess we've gone to that café a few more times.

 _February 2, 2001_

 _"So, what was Hermione Granger up to this week?" I ask, with as much false confidence as I can muster up. She's doing so much with her life and then there's me, who hasn't amounted to anything after the war._

 _"Let's not talk about my week," she says, looking down at her soup._

 _"Did something happen?" I ask. I don't like the look of pain and sadness on her face._

 _She shakes her head._

 _"It's nothing. Just, a bit of tension among friends. Isn't as though I haven't faced worse with them."_

 _There it is again. Her 'friends' have made her feel this way and it angers me to think of people she cares about treating her like this. And she shouldn't have to keep it all inside. I know how that works out, and it is not pleasant._

 _"You don't have to tell me right now," I start. "I don't know what's going on with you and your friends, but I can give you a bit of advise about emotions. Holding them inside doesn't help anyone and will truly harm you, I know from experience." I sigh. "I know, I haven't really given you a reason to trust me. I wouldn't trust me. But I hope you can. If not now, then at some point. Just, don't keep it all inside."_

 _She looks up at me. "Sixth year," she whispers remembering what experience I may be thinking of._

 _"That was a bad year indeed. But we don't have to talk about that yet," I tell her. After a moment of silence, I continue. "So, there had to be at least one good thing to come out of this week."_

 _"Well," she pauses, thinking. "I did finally put your generous donation to good use. Some of it at least."_

 _"Oh?" I ask, interested._

 _"I hired a potion-maker for the wolfsbane. Have a few werewolves who would like help on a regular basis and your money is going to give it to them," she explains._

 _"I'm glad," I say with a small smile._

Hermione has insisted on doing some strange things on our outings together. We finished eating quite early so she had something else in mind she wanted to do. In the second week of February, she had the brilliant idea to go to the beach. In the winter. And yes, we have magic, but did we use the skill that could have made the experience more pleasant? No. We did not.

 _February 16, 2001_

 _"Oh, such a baby!" she calls out to me, laughing._

 _"Really? You're enjoying this? You do realize we could make this so much better!" I argue, teeth chattering._

 _"And miss out on hearing you complain? You're such a wimp!"_

 _I can tell she's cold too, just doesn't want to admit it. She has her arms crossed over her chest and is nearly bouncing to keep warm._

 _"I told you this was a bad idea," I continue._

 _"And I told you; I don't have bad ideas," she says, chin up, walking backwards to face me._

 _"So you're enjoying watching me suffer are you?" I demand playfully._

 _"Not at all." She sends me a look with her big, innocent looking eyes. "I would never." I can see the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she tries not to laugh._

 _"Well, then. I guess I'll have to warm up somehow," I warn._

 _She turns and sprints away down the beach, sand flying up behind her. Laughing, I give chase, though the icy mist makes my eyes water and my vision blur._

A couple weeks later, she dragged me to a muggle restaurant. Hermione seemed a bit unsure of her decision at first, considering the beliefs I am known for holding and the family I belong to. It was definitely an enlightening experience. Quite strange.

 _March 2, 2001_

 _"What do they call this place again?" I ask._

 _Hermione ordered and paid, and we now wait at the other end of the counter to receive the food._

 _"McDonalds," she tells me. "It's considered fast food."_

 _"That's ridiculous. With magic it would be here in seconds!"_

 _She just smiles. "All the name really means is that it isn't one of those restaurants that take half an hour to serve you and the food is cheap and greasy."_

 _I scrunch my nose. "Cheap and greasy? Why are we here?"_

 _"Because you'll like it," she says, though the strength in her voice is lacking._

 _Our food finally comes up and Hermione grabs the tray, walking it over to a table with two very uncomfortable seeming chairs. She pushes a strange box in front of me and I watch as she opens hers and finds the sandwich inside._

 _I open my box and stare at the thing, tilting my head to one side, sizing it up. How am I supposed to eat something like this? I look around the table and find that there isn't even any cutlery._

 _"You eat it with you hands," Hermione explains and I can hear the laugh she is trying to conceal._

 _"Really?"_

 _She nods and takes hers out with her fingers, bringing it to her mouth and taking a huge bite, making grease and sauce leak out the bottom._

 _I look back at mine determinedly, and pick it up. The act seems unnatural and I half expect someone to yell at me because of my horrid table manners. But Hermione simply watches with amusement as I take my first bite. I'm surprised by the rush of flavour. I actually like this strange food._

 _And the fact that it is eaten with your hands isn't as disgusting as I thought it would be. In fact, it's quite freeing. So different from the constant formalities upheld by the members of my family. Oh, if my father could see me now, sitting in a restaurant surrounded by muggles eating greasy food with my fingers._

 _I can't help smiling at the thought._

* * *

March 16, 2001

"Where do you think you're going?"

I am organizing the papers on my desk and am just about to leave the manor, about to meet Hermione, when I hear my father's voice.

"Out," I reply in a cold, emotionless tone. I push past the man, who has entered my study, and pull open the door. I no longer have to answer to him. "And since when do you ever come to me to talk?"

"I sent an elf but you foolishly refused." His stuck up voice is grating on my nerves. I don't have to listen to this. I step one foot out into the hall when he speaks again. "I know where you have been going each Friday."

I freeze in the doorway.

"You had me followed." It's a statement. I should have known that he would. The nosy, controlling wizard always ends up getting his way. Whether or not his methods are legal, well that is a whole other matter. "You have no right!" I turn back to face him.

"Of course I have a right! You are my son! You represent the Malfoy name! How _dare_ you see that mudblood! And regularly!" he yells.

"Do _not_ use that word," I warn, my fingers tightening around my wand. He notices.

"Are you going to curse your own father now? Quite the man you've become," he finishes with sarcasm and I have to fight to hold my temper.

"I will see her today, and next Friday, and the Friday after that. You cannot prevent me from seeing her. She has put just a touch of the life back in my soul that you helped steal from me." I march up close and touch my wand to my father's chest threateningly. "If you hurt her, I swear; you will not enjoy the result."

His eyes go from shock to amusement. He knows I would never seriously injure him. He is my father. But I have defied him, and he was not expecting that.

Breathing deeply, my wand slips down to my side and I walk back towards the door.

"How can you live with yourself?"

Even though I know he is playing tricks with my mind, I can't help but stop once again.

He continues, "The things you've done to people, just like her. You've tortured them, killed them, and now, you sit with one for lunch. Draco, how do you even know you weren't the one to kill her parents?"

My blood runs cold. I couldn't have. Hermione would have said if her parents were killed in the war. My father is just trying to convince me not to go, he is reminding me of a past I wish I could forget. I cannot let myself believe him. I cannot let him lead me back into the darkness in which he constantly, and voluntarily dwells. I did terrible things in the war that I desperately long to undo, but I can't. I can only hope that Hermione's parents are not on that list of things I regret being forced to do, ever single day.

I continue walking, right out the front doors of the Manor. I cannot give him the satisfaction of watching me wrestle with his cruel words. I know I'm not good enough for Hermione. I _know_ this. But the thought that I could be responsible for the death of her parents is too much. How can I face her today?

I realize that this is exactly what my father wants, that he said those things with the sole purpose of destroying the friendship that has been growing between Hermione and I. And maybe it will, because I can't go on without knowing. That is the cruellest part of all. I have to ask.

I rub my hands over my face and pull my fingers through my hair. It's Friday, the day that has become my favorite, the one I look forward to, the day that makes all the other ones worth pushing through simply to reach it. I am supposed to be meeting Hermione any minute and it is supposed to be the most special hour of my week. But now I am in desperate turmoil.

I threatened my father should he ever hurt her, but perhaps I'm the one who has hurt her most of all. And I can't bear the thought of it. My heart is peeling at the inside of my chest, attempting to break free from behind my ribs and run screaming from my feelings. I feel lost. And cold, oh so cold.

The sun is shining, spring is nearly here, but the shadows are beginning to cover me once again and drag me back down to the depths of darkness where I deserve to be.

Meet Hermione.

Her image calls to me from the back of my mind.

But how can I, if indeed I have done this terrible act?

I don't even know if I did.

And isn't that the worst thing of all? That I was forced to kill so many, without even knowing their names?

But she'll be waiting now, and I should ask, I should tell her if I did. She would want to know, wouldn't she? She would want to know that she should be hating me?

So I go. I turn on the spot and disapparate.

"There you are!" She is happy to see me and I die a little inside. "What do you want to do today? I was thinking grab lunch to go and walk around a bit. The sun is out and it's getting a bit warmer, we should enjoy –

"Hermione," I interrupt. "I have to ask you something." I pull her gently to the side of the little cottage style restaurant, where we can have a bit more privacy. "I'm sorry if this is painful for you to recall, but I _must_ know." I take a deep breath. She seems confused. "What happened to your parents?" I ask the question as softly and tenderly as I can, but the words still feel like daggers being catapulted from my mouth.

I see it, the sadness that creeps over her features, and I fear the worst.

"Draco, what's this about?"

"Just tell me, please. Were they . . . were they killed?" I don't want to say it, I don't want to hurt her, or cause her pain in remembering, but I can't just go on as things have been without knowing.

"No," she looks at the ground. "Draco, I obliviated them, took all memories of me from them and sent them to Australia. I had to protect them."

And a weight is lifted off my chest, but replaced with utter amazement, respect, and sadness. I can't even imagine what that would feel like, to know that her parents don't remember they have a daughter. I was one of the people who made it necessary for her to go through that. The relief I feel that I did not kill her parents is taken over by the feeling of guilt that she had to do something like this.

"I don't understand what this is about," she says.

"My father had me followed, probably last week because he would have said something earlier if he had known." I tell her. "He knows that I've been seeing you and he stopped me before I left today. Reminded me of the things I was forced to do during the war and mentioned that I may have been the one to kill your parents."

"No, Draco, you didn't. They're safe, they're alive." She's concerned about me and rests a hand on my arm.

"But the fact remains that I did kill people, I killed mothers and fathers and I don't even know their _names_." I feel the despair twisting and writhing within me.

Hermione's hand drops back to her side as she considers this new information. This could be it, this could be the end of our friendship and the re-start of an enemy relationship. She is good, better than me, better than what I can offer. I don't come close to measuring up to what she deserves. Maybe this was too wrong to begin with.

Finally, she speaks, "I don't know everything that happened on your side or how you felt about it, but I do know that many did what they thought they had to and people do change."

"But the things I've done –

"You don't think I know? Draco, I know you were a Death Eater and I know the kinds of things Voldemort made his followers do. I also have a fairly good idea of what happened to those who refused. Doesn't change the way I see who you've become since then."

She has known what I did this whole time and still wants to see me? My mind is turning, frantically trying to grasp the concept that she sees me, yet, she accepts me; she sees me, yet, she isn't afraid of me.

"Now, can we get lunch?" she asks.

"I guess so," I reply.

We order some sandwiches and walk along the square, the sun brightening the mood.

"So, I have a question for you," she starts. "And, you don't have to answer if you don't feel comfortable."

"Alright?" I agree tentatively.

"Why do you see me each week? You go against your family to be here, so, why?"

What is it with the 'why' question?

I think for a moment before responding.

"Because I want to. You are someone worth getting to know."

Hermione smiles shyly. "And what about blood status?" I thought this would be quite clear from my agreement to go to a muggle restaurant but, maybe she just needs to hear it.

"Near the end of the war I realized that it doesn't really matter. A life is a life; pureblood, muggle-born, they both end the same way. Nothing is really different except heritage, tradition, and large houses," I tell her.

"I'm glad," she says. "I always thought you were too smart to believe those things for long."

"My parents still believe it," I point out.

She looks at me. "Sometimes, the longer we believe something, the more our lives revolve around that belief, the harder it is to let it go."

It seems as though she is talking from experience, but I don't ask. She'll tell me when she's ready for me to know, just as there are things I will one day tell her.

I sigh. "Since when did things get so complicated?"

She looks at me. "We grew up. I guess that's what happens. We gain a mind of our own and what seemed so plain before is suddenly completely different."

"I guess when things were easy we hated each other," I say, smiling. "Maybe growing up is a good thing."

We walk for a little while longer, but time is running away on us. As it comes to a close, I feel myself stepping back out of the shadows my father pushed me into. Once again, Hermione has released me from the pain, the frustration, the anger I held inside only a short while ago.

"I have to go back to work," she says.

"So, I'll see you next Friday then," I reply.

"Actually," she takes a deep breath. "I wasn't going to ask. It's silly. But, would you pick me up from work tonight and floo home with me?"

"What's going on?"

"It's nothing really, I've just been getting some rather frightening letters recently and got another one this morning. You don't have to if you're busy," she explains.

"No, of course I will. Have you told anyone about the letters?" I ask, becoming worried.

"I've told you," she says quietly.

"Hermione. If someone is threatening you –

"It's fine, really. They aren't truly threatening. I just don't want to go home, alone, to an empty house tonight."

I can tell she is downplaying the severity of these letters.

"I'll be there," I tell her.

"Six o-clock?"

"Of course. And, if you need help, if you're in trouble, _tell_ me you'll go to someone," I plead. I can't stand thinking that she could get hurt and I don't understand why she wouldn't talk to Potter about this. He's an auror isn't he? Isn't this what he does for a living?

The image flashes in my mind of her beautiful eyes, cold and unseeing. I realize that I care about this girl, a lot. I care about her and the thought scares me. The thought of something happening to her scares me more.

"I will, I promise," she assures me.

"I'll see you at six then," I say.

"Yes. And, thank-you."

"It's no problem. Really, if you ever need anything, I'm just sitting around at the manor."

She smiles and disapparates.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So, a bit of a longer chapter for you guys today. I didn't really want to go through each one of their lunch dates so I took some wonderful advice from sshanholtzer44 and gave a summary type part at the beginning as to not have a gap in the story. It was a bit different, so I hope it was alright. The transitions were a bit tricky, but let me know what you thought! I was hoping to give some information into the growth of their friendship during the past couple months. There are a few awkward places that I wasn't sure how to fix, so,** **sorry about that.**

 **I'm looking forward to sharing the next few chapters with you guys! The next one will be up on Saturday.**

 **The reviews I have been getting are amazing and super helpful. If you have any suggestions, things to improve on, things you want to see in the story, let me know! I will give it some consideration and do my best to incorporate it in.**

 **Thanks for reading, you guys are awesome, and have a great rest of your day!**


	6. Don't Measure Up

Chapter 6 – Don't Measure Up

March 16, 2001

As soon as I return to the manor, I hide away in my study, making sure to lock and ward the door. I do not wish to have another run-in with my father, especially not now, when I am worried for the girl whose mere existence he despises.

I watch the clock, unable to concentrate on anything but that constant ticking of a countdown to when I go to the ministry and take Hermione home. I am anxious to see her again, anxious to make sure she is alright.

Because I'm afraid.

But this time, I'm afraid for her, for her safety, for her life. She wouldn't tell me anything about these mysterious and frightening letters she has received, but they must not be good if she doesn't want to go home alone.

I've been through this too many times, seen the kinds of things people are capable of first hand, and I am terrified of what I could imagine happening to her. And I know that once I take her home, I'm not going to want to leave, just in case, just so she has someone there. I also know that I have no right to stay.

I stop and close my eyes. Am I this far gone? Do I really care about her this much? Is this what caring about someone feels like? Constantly worried? How have I gotten here?

The past couple of months I have been getting exactly what I wanted when I first saw her face at the party; to know her. We talk and laugh, even if it is only a short while each week. It isn't the deep, gritty, dirty, hole that we discuss - that will hopefully come a bit later - but the realities of today, of work, of hobbies, of pleasant things. I like that I have gotten to know, even a small bit of who she is now, however, there is also a lot that I am missing. But the trust is growing.

That hour is the one thing that has kept me sane, kept me away from the edge of the cliff, has kept me from falling off that rocky ledge and down into the pit of darkness I seem to always to be pulled back to. She has become a friend. When things get hard, when the darkness seems to spread to the precarious ground on which I stand above the valley of my memories, she is the person to stick my feet to the ledge so I can't fall off that precipice.

Time seems to crawl by at an agonizingly slow pace, forcing my mind to play over and over again the worst case scenarios. I try to block it out, the memories that flash behind my eyes, ghosts of her screams piercing through my ears, and I am afraid they will reoccur. I am afraid that whoever is sending these letters is going to bring terrors to her life once again, and again, I will be too cowardly to stop it.

But I am getting ahead of myself. They are only letters and she says they aren't even threatening. Hermione is smart, she knows if she is in danger, she knows if she needs to get more help. I shouldn't worry so much. But I do.

Finally, I stand up from behind my desk, having done absolutely nothing from the time I sat down except agonize over what could happen, and walk to the fireplace to floo to the ministry.

In a puff of green, I arrive.

It is different from the last time I was here, but I can't prevent the familiar chill, the silent terror from creeping up within me. After the war, they held the Death Eater trials and I had been certain that the next room I was going to see was a cell in Azkaban. I knew how the ministry worked and that they would most likely want to lock up everyone connected to Voldemort that they could. I was expecting a life sentence.

My whole family got off without going to prison and the trials were not nearly as biased as I had thought they would be under the new minister, but that didn't stop the undeniable feeling of absolute helplessness and fear of a lifelong sentence in a place that drains the soul, from rising within me.

I walk through the checkpoint, handing over my wand for inspection, and am searched for any dark artifacts. The security has increased drastically since the war and it makes me feel a bit better about Hermione being here.

My heart is pounding in my chest and I can hear the blood whooshing in my ears. I really should have come back here before now, but I haven't had a good enough reason to face this particular horror yet.

I can feel the stares, the drilling sensation of eyes trained on me. A Malfoy has not been seen in the ministry for almost three years, not to mention the associations the name still carries. I can feel it; the disgust, the anger, the fear. Many people believe that myself and my whole family should be in Azkaban, and we did do terrible things during the war, but for my mother and I, we never really had a choice. My father is a completely different story and it is told, even a small bit, by the house arrest he has been under and continues to endure. The Manor is his whole world now.

I also hear the whispers, the muttering, the gossip, of what I could possibly be doing here. It is obvious that I am not wanted, and as much as it burns a hole through my chest, I already knew before I came that this would be the reaction. I am not here for me; I am here for Hermione.

I make my way to the lift and people avoid stepping foot in my path, preferring to move to the side and stare, or whisper to one another. I am not here for me; I am here for Hermione.

The lift rises and I get off at level four, the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures, and head to be Beings Division, where Hermione works in the Werewolf Support Services subdivision.

I find Hermione's office and can't help but smile at seeing her name engraved on the door. I always knew that one day, she would be leading some sort of creature rights campaign, I knew her name would end up on a door.

"Do you have an appointment?"

I turn to see who has stopped me, who has actually dared to talk to me, and see a tall, lanky woman, with straight brown hair and large glasses.

"She is already finished for today, but I could ask if she would stay, or if she will see you Monday," she says with an American accent. That could explain why she is speaking to me, why she doesn't seem to be afraid.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"I'm Kara, Miss Granger's assistant," she replies.

Hermione has an assistant?

"Well, Kara, she is expecting me –

Even as I say the words, Hermione's door opens.

"Draco," she smiles. "I can't thank you enough for coming today." She turns to Kara. "Thank-you. You can go home. I'll see you Monday." She speaks politely, smiling and nodding respectfully, talking with a sense of equal status that astounds me. It is so typically of Hermione to treat her assistant in a manner that excludes any hint of superiority.

"You have a nice weekend," Kara says, turning to leave.

"So, you have an assistant," I implore once she is out of earshot.

"Yes. Kara." Hermione pauses for a moment before continuing. "She was bitten at the age of fifteen and has had a rough go of things since then. I went to America for a couple months after. . ." she trails off. "I met her and offered her a job. They don't have anything like this in America and she was eager to be involved."

"She's a werewolf?" I ask, a bit shocked.

"Yes, but also a wonderful, kind-hearted, young woman," Hermione corrects. "Lycanthropy doesn't define her anymore."

I knew she had ambition, plans, but now I see how far she has actually progressed.

"So, people actually use the service," I more state than question.

"Somewhat, yes. As I said, it's slow, but growing."

We walk back to the lift, which takes us down to the entrance.

There are far fewer people now than there were earlier, but somehow, the staring seems worse, the whispering is louder, and I look to Hermione beside me who is watching those people with confusion. I wish she doesn't have to see it.

"Why are they -  
"It's fine. I'm used to it. I haven't been to the ministry in a while and now I'm walking with you. . . you know how people enjoy their gossip," I say.

Hermione looks at me, her eyes big.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to come here. I wasn't thinking," she apologizes.

"Really, it's fine. It was good for me to come back here," I tell her.

"You haven't been back since. . ." the trial. She doesn't need to say the last word.

"I was avoiding it and needed a reason to face it. It was good for me."

"And them, does that happen a lot?" she asks.

I shrug. "I'm a Malfoy. The name holds a completely different meaning now. I wish I could change it, I'm trying to change it, but it will take some time."

"Draco," she almost whispers, I can see the empathy in her gaze.

We stand directly in front of one of the large fireplaces.

I hate that she has to experience the stares and whispers with me and I wish she could stay oblivious to the things I deal with on a regular basis. It is a pain she does not need to endure, a pain she shouldn't endure, and I just hope that I have not ruined her reputation here by being seen with her.

And again I think of how she deserves better, how she should find someone who measures up to how amazing she is. I was a Death Eater, and, even though I am working to change the dark view people have of me, I know it won't be for a while, and I know it won't be an easy feat.

"I'll go first," I tell her. The least I can do is make sure everything is safe before she arrives.

"Thank-you," she says.

I step into the fireplace and feel the sensation of being sucked up, turning, I find her sitting room and step out into it. I look around. Everything seems exactly the way I saw it back in January, nothing out of place. The only difference is the small, messy stack of letters on the table. I can't read what is written on them from where I stand and I am not about to nose through them, but I can tell that whatever is said, was written in anger. The ink looks dark and deep and I can see a few drops of what could be tears. I wonder if they are from whoever the letter was written by, or Hermione.

She steps out behind me, places a hand on my arm and I turn to face her.

"I know, I owe you an explanation," she takes a deep breath. "But I can't. Not right now."

"It's alright. Don't get me wrong, I would like to know, but I don't need to."

She flashes an almost smile. Then she is off down the hall and I am left confused. Where is she going? It hits me that she is checking the rooms of her flat before I leave, making sure everything is how it should be.

Again, I wonder why she hasn't gone to the auror's office if she is this frightened.

Hermione comes back to the sitting room. "Thank-you again, for doing this."

"Do you want me to stay? I can sleep out here, on the sofa," I offer.

"No, really, I'll be fine." And even though I desperately want to stay, and be completely certain she is alright, I have no right to argue, so I nod my acceptance.

"If you need anything, floo, please. I have a fireplace in my study that has been used to come here so you will end up there if you do."

"Okay," she says."And thank-you again, for this."

I nod again and back slowly into the fireplace, dropping the floo powder at my feet and stepping out into my study.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hey guys! So, this chapter wasn't as packed full as the last one, more informational and a step towards the next chapter which is much more exciting. I hope it was alright and I would love to hear your thoughts on it or what you think might happen.**

 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed for the last chapter, it really makes me happy when I see a new comment. Also, if you catch any errors, or things I can fix, please let me know, I had one in the last chapter and I am so thankful that I was able to fix it. Small thing, but I wouldn't have found it if it hadn't been pointed out. sshanholtzer44 has helped me out a few times now so thanks a lot!**

 **I start work soon so I will post twice again next week but I might be going back to once a week shortly.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	7. Not Prepared

Chapter 7 – Not Prepared

March 21, 2001

They say you don't know what you have until its gone. I've heard that the moment you truly know you love someone is the moment you are about to lose them. And I'm afraid this is it.

Just a minute ago, everything was fine, everything was normal. I was sitting at my desk organizing where our money will go for next month, which organizations to donate to, what may cause people to second guess their judgements of us.

But now, everything has changed.

In a single minute, my world has gone from normal, to full blown panic.

When Hermione's face appeared in the fire, she called out for me, and I could hear it in the desperation of her voice that something was terribly wrong.

The world seems to be going in slow motion as I now stand in front of my fireplace, staring at her wide and terrified eyes in the coals. I feel fear as I haven't in years, not since Voldemort's demise. I don't know for certain if I love this girl, but I do know I am falling and that I want a chance to love her.

"Draco, he broke into my flat," I can tell she is trying hard not to cry. "I thought everything was fine, I thought he wouldn't do this, but now, I don't know anything anymore."

"Hermione, is he still there? I'm coming. Right now."

She's gone from the fire and my eyes go wide. "Hermione!"

I grab a fistful of floo powder and practically leap into the fireplace, twist through the channels and jump out at her end. I have to see her. I have to get to her!

The next thing I know, she is throwing herself into my arms, and no longer able to hold them back, she sobs into my shoulder. I hold her tightly, rubbing her back gently with the palm of my hand.

"Hermione, is he gone?" I ask quietly and I feel her nod against me. "Alright. Everything is going to be alright," I soothe.

I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to calm my own racing heart. Hermione's okay.

Her breathing slows and becomes more even, but I can still feel her shaking in my arms as she pulls away, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Don't you dare apologize. There's nothing to apologize for," I tell her. "What happened?"

She clears her throat. "I just got home from work and he was here and it was like this," she struggles to explain, gesturing around the room. I finally notice the horrifying work, whoever this _he_ is, did to her flat. My eyes go wide as I see nearly every surface covered in words.

 _Whore._

 _Traitor._

 _Murderer._

 _Death Eater._

 _Betrayer._

Red flashes behind my eyes. I don't think I have ever been so angry in my life as I am right now, for her. How dare someone say these things to her? To this perfect, kind, already broken girl. My fists clench at my sides.

"Who did this?" I ask in a low voice.

Hermione stays silent and just looks at me, her arms around her own torso as though she is trying desperately to hold herself together so she doesn't crumble to pieces.

"You have to report this. If you don't want to go to Potter, go to someone. Get the aurors involved –

"It's Ron," she says in a barely audible voice.

I stop. "What? I don't understand."

She just shakes her head. She won't explain.

"You can't stay here," I say. "Come to the Manor. I won't let anyone hurt you."

Her mouth drops open, just slightly, in unspoken terror and I know what I'm asking. I'm asking her to move from one fear to the next; go back to the place where she was tortured.

"I don't think I can," she responds quietly, voice shaking.

"Hermione, you can't stay here. If you won't come to the Manor, will you go to Potter's?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "They've been through enough. I don't want them to get involved in this."

"I don't care about them right now; I care about you."

She looks at me, the words I'm saying slowly sinking in. Her eyes, her beautiful, chocolate eyes stare through me, crashing into my soul with tidal wave force. And I know, that something is seriously wrong in the relationship between her and her friends right now. A tear rolls down her cheek and she quickly wipes it away.

"You care about me?" she whispers.

It's as though she thinks nobody could care about her and it burns my chest to think of how horrible the people around her must be that this girl standing in front of me, this incredible person, believes that no one cares about her.

"Yes," I reply. "And I know what I'm asking, trust me, I know. I live in that place and every time I enter, I have to remind myself that it's over. I understand how hard it is to go back there. I do. The things that went on there haunt me. But you can't. stay. here."

She takes a deep breath and slowly releases herself from her own grip letting her arms fall to her sides. I move over to her and take her hand in mine.  
Hermione stares at our hands, interlocked together before raising her eyes to mine once again.

"It's not the same as it was during the war. My mother wanted no reminders so the old furniture is gone, the walls are painted. It's not perfect; the foundations are the same, the walls themselves still hold hints of dark magic, but it's not like it was." I pause. "Do you trust me?" I ask.

She's silent for a moment, her eyes searching mine.

"Yes. I trust you," she says.

Hearing her say the words is like a hammer being taken to those walls of mine. Those walls I hide behind are one step closer to being knocked down and flooded with light.

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you," I repeat.

"But your father –

"My father will not come near you. Yes, he does hold the same sick views he did during the war and oh, would he hate you being at the manor. But I will not let him hurt you. If he even steps foot in the same room, I have no problem sending a hex or two his way. I won't kill the man, and he knows that, but I've already told him that if he even thinks about hurting you, he will not like what comes his way."

"And your mother?"

"She holds those beliefs as well, but she supports me. She was actually the one who suggested I talk to you in the first place."

Hermione takes a deep breath. "Alright."

"Alright?" I clarify.

"Yes. Let's get out of here."

"I want to apparate us outside the main gates. It will give you a bit of time to prepare yourself rather than suddenly appearing inside."

She nods.

Hands still clasped together, I apparate the two of us to the front gates of Malfoy Manor.

The sun has nearly set, sending dark shadows across the Manor grounds and a cool, spring, evening breeze brushes past our skin. Hermione shivers.

"Are you ready?" I ask. I don't believe she will ever truly be ready as she is squeezing my hand so tightly it feels as though I may lose circulation in my fingers.

Again, she simply nods.

I take my wand from my pocket and wave it in front of the gates, causing them to open, and I gently lead Hermione towards the place of her horrors. We walk across the grounds, which seem so much larger now than ever before, and finally reach the front door.

"Remember, it's not going to be like it was," I reassure her.

Stepping into the foyer, I can feel Hermione shaking beside me. Overwhelming guilt bubbles up inside, threatening to come loose. I feel sick to my stomach as I hear her screams, her pleading for the pain to stop, the laughter of my maniacal aunt as she leaned over Hermione's writhing form. It flashes through my mind every time I step foot in this room, but never as strongly, as violently, as it is right now. I stood there and watched. I did nothing. And it eats away at me, day after day.

I hear her exhale loudly beside me and turn to her. She's blurry and I realize I may be crying. I pull myself together, but not before she notices.

"It wasn't your fault, Draco," she tells me.

"But I was a coward, I just watched –

"You were only a boy. It wasn't your job to protect me. We weren't even friends, in fact, enemies. Why do you think you should have stepped in? Why would you have risked your life for someone you considered an enemy?" She pauses for a moment. "You're right. It's different now." She gestures around the room at the bright emerald green walls and almost golden wood floors, the new and sparkling crystal chandelier causing light to seemingly dance across the room. "It's different; the room, our friendship. It's different now."

I feel a heavy weight lift off my chest, freedom from the burden of guilt I have carried with me since that horrible day years ago.

She doesn't blame me. She hasn't been blaming me all this time, while I have been struggling to make it through each day without hearing her screams echo through my mind. And now she stands, in the place where it happened, and assures _me._

"Are you alright?" I finally ask.

"Yes. I think I am," she sounds surprised.

I am relieved. She has survived so much and I can tell this has been a step towards healing.

I lead her up the stairs and to the West wing, where my father rarely steps foot. I can only hope he will not make an appearance while she's here. Leading her down the hall and showing her around a bit, I can see the awe in her expression. I have to admit, even the bathroom is quite extravagant. I finish up the short miniature tour at the guest bedroom she will be sleeping in.

"You can stay here," I say, opening the door.

"This is a _guest_ room?" she asks, brows raised. It is a nice room, even compared to the other guest rooms; large with light lavender walls, a small white bookshelf, a fairly large, white wardrobe, and that same lavender colour on the bed.

"Did you expect any less?"

"I shouldn't have, should I," she states.

Hermione turns to face me and we stand in silent tension. I realize how close we stand, that if I lean down just a bit . . . She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth nervously, drawing my attention to them, and my sudden desire to kiss her.

But I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't. She's my friend, we just became friends after years of being enemies. But now I want more. I want to push this thing, whatever it is we have between us, to its limits. I want to kiss her. And I can't want that. I can't, because, even though she doesn't blame me for what happened to her, I am still not worthy. I am a Malfoy, I am an ex-Death Eater, I am not worthy to love her.

"Uh . . . so . . . my room is down the hall if you need anything. I'll see if I can get you some night robes and clothes for tomorrow," I say, pulling us both out of our daze.

"Right. Yes. Thank-you," she replies. "Really, Draco. Thank-you."

I simply smile, nod politely, and make a quick exit down the hall to prevent doing something impulsive. Like kiss her.

As I walk away, because I need to walk away, I realize just how strong she is. She has no one to support her, one of the people she used to call a best friend broke into her flat and wrote horrible things about her around the entire place, faced the Manor, where she was tortured, and is still standing in one piece. I shake my head, utterly amazed. Anyone else wouldn't have cried once and moved on; anyone other than her would have needed someone else to pick up the shattered pieces. But she's Hermione Granger.

I close my eyes. She's Hermione Granger, and here, with me, safe.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hey my amazing readers! You finally found out who the letters were from . . . but why? What is going on between Hermione and her friends? I would love to hear from you guys! If you see anything that needs fixing, have any suggestions or theories, or simply just want to comment, I would really appreciate it.**

 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed for the last chapter, you always make me smile.**

 **My training for my new job starts on Thursday so I will have a chapter up for Saturday but depending on the date I actually start working, it may go back to once a week.**

 **Anyways, thanks for reading!**


	8. She's Good For You

Chapter 8 – She's Good For You

March 22, 2001

How did I get here?

This is a question I frequently ask myself. How did I get into this particular situation? A chain of events leads us to where we are and where we are, is part of the chain to lead us somewhere else. So, how did this moment occur?

Things seemed dark, as though I would never see the light of day, truly feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. But now, things have changed. The chain reaction that is my life has brought me to a place I could never have imagined even a few months ago. I see light.

I sit across the mahogany table, sharing breakfast, with a most unexpected guest.

Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger, perfect, yet broken. A muggle-born sitting in the dining room of Malfoy Manor, the place where during the war, people like her came to die; where she came to die.

But not now. Now, she is safe, she is beautiful. She is wearing the silvery green work robes I found last night in my mother's old things. I marvel at the similarities between the two women. Sure, they believe different things, but they are both strong and beautiful women who survived a war and still stand to bring out the best in me. They are the two people in my life who I admire the most.

Simply the fact that she is a girl who I brought home is an incredible thing as I have never brought a girl here. Never. I have had lots of girls who wanted my attention, lots of girls who wanted things from me; physical things. But they were feats, brought bragging rights; their purpose was to allow me to let off some steam, to relax. None of them ever meant enough to bring home. I guess after Voldemort returned and began using the manor as his own, bringing anyone here was a danger, but before that, and after Voldemort's fall, I have not brought a girl here.

I watch Hermione, mesmerized, as she eats her porridge, sliding the spoon between her perfect lips, her tongue reaching out to touch the corner of her mouth. I look down at my own breakfast. I can't keep doing this, can't keep thinking this. I would ruin everything. We are friends, barely even that. I can't keep thinking about how she would taste if I kissed her, how she would feel against me. It's wrong.

How did I get here?

I guess it all started that November night; that night when I saw her and her image refused leave my mind. Those months that I couldn't drive her out. I have accepted her presence in my thoughts and embraced them. I want more, but I shouldn't. I don't deserve more. But if I look at her and her incredible self, all those shouldn'ts fade away and all that remains is my desire. It isn't anything more. It can't be anything more than desire.

Her eyes tell a different story. Her eyes seep into me, pull me, hold me. And I know that this is not mere desire. Without kissing, without touching, without any of the physical aspects that I have experienced before with those other girls, I know that I am falling for her. We just talk and it isn't even about the deep things that haunt us, the things that desperately want to be said, the things that are just waiting to come out.

But last night, I knew. I knew and it terrified me. It terrified me, that, even without all the things they say you should have before this point, I am falling in love with her.

"Thank-you, again, for letting me stay here last night," she says.

My eyes raise to her once again.

"It's no big deal. Really." I pause. "Are you thinking of going back to your flat tonight?"

"Well, yes. I don't want to intrude here," Hermione replies.

"Come back here tonight," I tell her. "You shouldn't go back there alone. At least not right now."

She sighs, as though she doesn't want to talk about this right now. As though this is beyond conversation. But I can't stand the thought of her going back there, to that flat; the one that is destroyed by such terrible words, words that have nothing to do with the girl sitting in front of me. It pains me to think that Weasley would do something like this. They were best friends and I don't understand what happened.

"I have to go work," she says, standing up.

And I have an idea.

"Before you go, I would like to show you something." I join her, pushing my chair away from the table and walking around to offer her my hand. Maybe I can convince her to come back.

"Alright," she agrees, though she seems a bit confused. But she cannot hide the involuntary expression of excitement that flashes in her eyes and in the barely visible smile on her face.

As I lead her from the room, I see a shadow escape down the hall and I desperately hope it is not my father. I have not seen him since dinner yesterday and he normally takes breakfast in his study, but there is always the possibility of a run-in.

I pick up a bit of speed, pulling her gently behind me. If my father finds us, it would mean disaster.

I come to the large wooden doors and can't wait to see Hermione's face when she steps inside.

"I think you're going to like this," I say with an eager smile.

She smiles back, but her brows are still drawn together in confusion. "Draco, what –

Before she can finish, I push open the doors to reveal the library. Her jaw drops slightly in amazement as I lead her inside. Shelves of books line the entire perimeter of the room with six chairs in different sections with stacks beside each, and a narrow spiral staircase in one corner leading up to the second floor above us; a balcony-like floor, open in the middle, with more shelves around the outside edge and an extravagant rail lining the inner.

I watch as she turns in a circle, taking in everything that is the Malfoy library.

"This is incredible," she whispers in awe.

"Come back here tonight," I urge her again. "We can spend some time in here."

Hermione bites her bottom lip nervously, taking another look around before finding me once again.

"Alright. I'll come back," she agrees.

"I look forward to it," I say with a smile.

After Hermione has left, I stay, standing in the center of the library. I guess you could say I had lost the awe. The room had become a normal part of life, just like the rest of my extravagant existence. I had forced back the significance, the bad memories it holds, and made it into a storage room.

But Hermione is making me see the world through new eyes, giving me a fresh perspective, shedding glorious light over the dimmed shadows of my universe. Just a moment ago, this room where I stand went from a place to store books, to a magnificent museum of information.

We are opposites. While I have always seemed to destroy anything I touch, she brings it back to life, brighter, and more spectacular than ever before. Piece by piece, she is putting my life back together, whether she knows it or not. I have never been more confident in myself, in who I am, in what I believe. I realize that I am willing to fight for this. I already have.

I believe that my family has been brainwashed all these years and I have finally stepped out into a clear, and breath-taking world that seemed hideous and disgusting before.

Even a few months ago, I was holding back, bending to the will of my father, pretending that it was alright to hate people who aren't like us. But it's not and I can't go on acting as though it is. Hermione isn't like us, but that doesn't make her inferior. She's better. She is kinder, more driven, full of life; she is stronger.

Hearing the door creak open, I instinctively clutch my wand. I remember the disappearing shadow earlier in the hall and know that this could be my father, here to mess with my head, insult Hermione, take his stand as the prejudiced, son-of-a-bitch he is.

But then I see my mother poke around the door, and I feel my body relax.

"Mother," I sigh.

"I know, you are a grown wizard and I cannot keep following you around the manor when you have guests. But Draco. You brought her here?" I smile at her attempt at an apology.

"She had nowhere else to go," I explain.

"But if your father found out . . ." she trails off.

"I know. It would not be good."

My mother strides forward and takes my hands in hers, looking at me with strangely adoring eyes.

"I'm proud of you," she says.

"Why?" I ask. I genuinely have no idea why she would be proud of me. I am still a bit confused in where her loyalties lie in all this. She believes in blood purity, does she not?

"Oh, Draco. For so many things." She shakes her head with a small smile. "I'm glad I saw you two together."

"It was you in the hall," I say with relief.

"Yes," she admits.

"Mother, I –

"Draco, darling, you are standing up for yourself, for her, for what you believe, for your own happiness," she interrupts. "Yes, your father told me about what you said to him. He wasn't all too pleased about it. As much as I can't condone such behaviour in this household, I think it's about time."

I let out a laugh I am no longer able to contain. "What are you saying?" I ask, a bit bewildered.

"I'm saying, I think this is more than blood status. Your father needs to learn that. Miss Granger is good for you. You need some joy in your life, Draco, a friend, someone who understands what went on during the war and where you are now. And I think she may be that person."

Why am I constantly surprised by this woman? Somehow, she survived having a husband and a son on the wrong side of the war, a madman staying in her home, the trials after the war and a cold and unfeeling husband at home all day, every day. She is a perfect Malfoy, formal, elegant, graceful, and yet a perceptive and loving mother. I have seen both sides of that equation; the pureblooded ice queen and the warm, bubbly, overly affectionate smotherer. Narcissa Malfoy has the perfect balance of both blended in with an inspirational strength.

"Lucius will never approve of this. He will be absolutely furious when he finds out."

"You won't tell him, will you?" I ask.

"No. I won't risk her safety, or yours for that matter. But I will talk to him if he does. I don't want to lose you," she says.

"You won't," I assure her.

"Is she coming back tonight?" I see a hopeful light in her eyes.

"Yes, she is." I can't help but smile as I say it. I cannot wait to see Hermione's rekindled joy at the sight of the library once more. I know she will be thinking about that room all day, just imagining all the different books that it may contain.

I think back to our Hogwarts days. I used to tell her how horrible she was for being a 'know-it-all', how she was just some bookworm. Now, I think it would have been nice to hold an intelligent conversation over a book, or even a textbook. My friends were such dimwits it would have been refreshing. But I was too arrogant to see how wonderful it could be. I was too focused on my nonsensical prejudice to see the beauty in bookworm.

But now I have a second chance, and I can see it in the look on my mother's face that she knows this too.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hey my amazing readers! So, this chapter was another one without a whole lot going on, but I hope it was alright anyhow. The next one will be their evening spent in library.**

 **So, I'm kind of conflicted on something and I was wondering if you guys would help me out. Everyone knows a kiss is coming at some point, but I would really like your opinions on sooner (in the next chapter or so), or give them some more time. I won't tell you any more than that but, I got one comment saying that they should kiss now, and another saying it isn't time. So, if you could let me know, even if it's just that one word, I would really appreciate it. I have been going back and forth on this for days.**

 **Thanks to those of you who reviewed for the last chapter, you're kind words were so special to me.**

 **Thanks to everyone for reading and I'll see you when I have the next chapter ready (When I decide what's happening ;P)**


	9. Unlike Anyone Else

Chapter 9 – Unlike Anyone Else

March 22, 2001

Her smile is like treasure; treasure found in the deepest and darkest of caves. Her eyes shine like priceless gold with unleashed joy. She glows. And I know, that smile is worth more than any magic, any artifact, any amount of money. I know, as long as that smile is in my sight, I can find my way out from the dark cave and into the light of day.

Hermione is dancing around the library, gliding gracefully from shelf to shelf, examining each spine, taking note of the vast information the room holds. Every few moments she looks over her shoulder to me and I catch a glimpse of that bright smile, that joy that seems to light up the entire room.

"This is amazing," she keeps whispering to herself. "I've never seen a library like this."

The Malfoy collection is quite extensive; from novels to mastery level potions, transfigurations, books on the Dark Arts, of ancestry, of history. She won't find another room stocked with more knowledge, with such exquisite selection. It is one of the only things I ever really prized about living here. It is a shame it does not get used much.

She is standing there, mesmerized by a book she just found, three more trapped under her arms.

"You can come back here any time you like. You don't have to rush through everything now," I tell her and she looks up at me from the book. Her eyes are wide and shining with delight.

"Really?" she asks, grinning.

I can't help the small laugh that escapes me. This Hermione Granger, I have not seen since Hogwarts. Nothing, not even talking about her job, has given this light back to her eyes. I love to see her like this.

"Of course. Just, choose one, sit down, and read. Tomorrow you can come back for a different one."

"Draco, this is –

"Incredible. I know," I interrupt with a smile of my own.

"Have you read many?" she asks.

"A few," I reply. "The collection is quite astonishing. I'm really the only one who consistently uses it, well, not as much nowadays." I pause. I'm not sure how far I should go with the question. Perhaps I should leave it there. I don't want to resurface any memories she isn't comfortable with remembering.

Her brows draw together a bit. "Don't your parents come here? I couldn't imagine being in the same building as this and not using it." She doesn't understand that there is much more to the room than simply a library.

My smile fades and I know she has noticed. Like my mother, she is perceptive of such things.

"What's wrong?" she asks. Her smile drops as well and I wish, more than anything, to bring it back.

I sigh. "There was a lot that happened during the war," I say, keeping my words vague.

"I'm not sure I understand," she slips the books from her arms into a neat pile on the floor and moves toward me, resting her hand on my arm.

"It was my escape. It, sort of became my own space during the war, somewhere I could hide away. I didn't get a whole lot of actual reading done in that time, too much on my mind, but my parents respect that it was my only way out of what was going on in the rest of the Manor, at least for a short time. Well, my mother did. She more convinced my father I needed this to keep sane." And some of the deep and dirty reaches the air.

"Draco. I'm sorry. This must be a hard place to come back to," she apologizes. "And here I am, saying how wonderful it is."

I shake my head. How could she possibly turn this around onto herself? Her eyes which held all that joy only moments ago, are now sad and tormented. Why does she do this?

"No Hermione. It is wonderful. It had become dark, I had made it practically a storage room in my mind, rid it of any significance. But somehow, you've brought back the life," I assure her. "You have no need to apologize. In fact, I should be thanking you. You, coming here, has made me realize what I've forgotten."

Her eyes fall from mine to the floor.

"Really," I continue. "I want you to enjoy it. Don't think anyone can enjoy a thing like this more than you."

She looks back up at me, eyes regaining a bit of that sparkle, teeth pulling once more on that bottom lip as she turns toward the shelves, then back to me again. I nod, gesturing to the books she left sitting on the floor.

Hermione's hand slides from my arm as she moves back to scoop up her finds and settle in one of the chairs, pulling her knees to her chest and opening the top book. I move over to a chair not far from the one she tucked herself into and pull out a book of my own; a very masculine choice of battles and strength and gore.

What am I really trying to prove here? I can't say I am reading the book for my own enjoyment, I have had quite enough of this content in my life outside of fantasy. Did I choose it to impress her? I glance up at Hermione, who is currently lost in her book. She is not some girl who would be pleased with my book choice, she is not concerned with such petty matters as a book choice.

I shut the book. I know, if I truly want to impress this particular girl, I must be myself, choose which book will put useful information into my mind; things that will make me a better man.

And there, on the very top of the pile beside my chair, is a mastery level potions script. Such coincidence. I glance once more at Hermione, who has a slight smirk lighting her expression. Then again, maybe coincidence is not what has occurred.

I shake my head, reaching down beside me to pull the potions book onto my lap, replacing it on the pile with my previous, laughable choice.

A choice.

I have a choice.

Again, I glance up from the book to Hermione. Is she attempting to tell me something? I look down at the other book, then at the one now on my lap. One represents who I was, who I thought I was, who I had to be, and the other, who I can be. I can choose to put down the fighting, the killing, the darkness, and pick up the intelligence, the light, the dreams I left behind long ago.

I stare at the cauldron on the cover and take a deep breath. I sit in the place where I began this internal journey; a place that helped form my identity. It's just a room, but also, somehow more. I spent many hours here during the war, contemplating what my future would hold. It was where I explored before Voldemort's return, fully convinced of my superiority and pureblood ideals. It was where I hid from the horrors Voldemort brought during his reign in the Manor, was where I escaped to after my first kill. And my second. And my third. And where I realized that a life, is a life, no matter what the heritage.

So now, it is quite fitting that my next self revelation will also occur in this library. This book, the one that sits on my lap, closed, is my choice. I know that once I make the decision to dive within the pages, there will be no turning back from what my heart yearns for.

Hermione has presented me with a door; a door that cannot be opened until I open the book, and a door that cannot be closed once it has been opened. For this book is much more than simply words on pages, but an ancient kind of magic. Inspiration. And inspiration can never be put back inside the box once it has been let roam free.

I take the plunge. With trembling fingers, I pull the door open and release what's behind it. And I devour the information I find, remembering the feeling of precision, of patience, of anticipation. I remember the beauty, the extraordinary wonder of creating magic from practically useless ingredients when apart. The bubbling mixtures, the pungent odours, designed to kill or to heal.

I read on and on, page after page, potion after potion, and realize, this isn't just any mastery potions book, it is a text of good. Not a single mixture creates something harmful, just healing, protecting, saving.

This is who I can be.

And I like it.

"Draco."

I look up when I hear Hermione call my name.

"Would you walk me back to my room? It's getting quite late and I have work tomorrow," she asks. "I'm not confident I know my way around, and it seems all too easy to get lost."

"Oh, yes, right. Of course," I reply.

I shut the book, knowing what it brought can never be taken away, and place it on the seat of the chair as I stand.

"Good book?" She sounds falsely innocent on the matter as we walk to the door.

"Yes," I chuckle, and she knows that I know her part to play.

"Good," she simply replies.

We walk, side by side, through the dark halls in silence. The only sounds are the whispering of portraits, our footsteps, and our breath.

"You know," Hermione starts, breaking the quiet movement. "I haven't really felt like myself in a while. So, thank-you. For bringing me there. For reminding me of who I am."

"I think I should be the one to thank you," I say.

"Maybe we both helped remind each other tonight," she remarks. "It was nice."

We reach her room and once again, it is time to part ways.

And here we are, another night, standing face to face in the dark doorway of the bedroom, wishing for more. Well, at least I am. But her eyes, they say that perhaps she feels it too. Perhaps she feels the undeniable pull, this powerful trance-like state, where all I can see is her.

I'm moving closer until I'm merely inches away, I can feel her breath against my face. But I freeze. What if she doesn't feel it? What if this is not what she wants? I pull myself back, just slightly, just enough to see. And I do. I see it in her eyes, that if I move in to kiss her, she will let me.

But are we ready for something like this? I want to say its just a kiss that it wouldn't mean much more, though, I know it isn't true. It would mean a shift in our relationship from friend to something else. It would mean expressing this force I feel pressing inside me, letting it escape and run forth. I don't even know exactly what that force is, but it's strong and I'm not sure I'm ready to explore its depths.

So I step away and feel as though some tiny person is pounding on the inside of my chest, yelling at me not to give up on this, screaming for me to just do it.

But I can't. Not yet.

It seems so strange that I can't even kiss this girl without the scene of perfection. Because it is the start of something bigger and I feel it. I don't want to mess it up.

"Good night, Hermione," I say, taking another step away.

She seems almost disappointed and I think, maybe this was right and I was blind to see it.

Suddenly, Hermione is raised on her tip toes and I feel the soft brush of her lips against my cheek before she quickly steps back.

"Goodnight," she replies quietly.

Its as though she has stolen the breath straight from my lungs. I can't move, I can't breathe, I should have kissed her. I should have kissed her but once again, I was too cowardly to act. But that small gesture from her gives me hope that next time, I will act. Next time, I won't let the opportunity pass me by. And perhaps, I won't destroy our future by doing so.

Now, I make my escape down the hall toward my own room, fingers ghosting up to brush along my cheek in the place where her lips touched, the skin that is still tingling as though tinged by some type of magic.

I vow to myself, that next time, I will kiss her. And it will be right.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Sorry it took me so long to decide what to do with this. But here it is, finally! Let me know what you thought! Were you expecting something like this? At first I thought it was a bit strange for Draco to be acting this way, but then I thought about the war and how people treat him now, it would change him. That, together with the fact that Hermione is the first girl he's ever really cared about and it starts to make more sense. What do you think?**

 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed this past week, I always love to hear what you think, get ideas, improve my writing.**

 **I start work this coming week so I will be going back to posting on the weekends. I may move the posting date to Sunday now that my other story is finished and give myself Saturday to work on the chapter. If you** **happen to have a preference don't hesitate to tell me!**

 **Thank you to all you amazing people for reading, following/favoriting, reviewing! I hope you have a great week!**


	10. I Do, But I'm Afraid

Chapter 10 – I Do, But I'm Afraid

March 29, 2001

A week.

How agonizing this time has been.

Don't get me wrong, being able to persuade Hermione to stay at the Manor this long has been incredible. Her flat is probably still ruined, as no one has been by to take down those horrible words, and since Hermione continues to refuse reporting the matter, my condition is that she stay here.

It is also quite the feat, being able to avoid my father for an entire week. My mother must have something to do with it, somehow keeping him busy enough not to bother with me or what I am doing with my time. I am rather thankful for the break from his annoying watchfulness and the ability to spend time with Hermione.

My vow has not been fulfilled and that tiny man inside me, pounding at my chest is quite angry with me. It's not as though I have been avoiding being in that close proximity, it simply hasn't happened. Well, maybe I have. I keep arguing with myself, saying that it just hasn't been the right moment, I want it to be absolutely perfect.

But I am afraid. That kiss could change everything. It could be the best thing to ever happen to me, or it could destroy everything we have been building over the past few months.

Why am I always a coward when it comes to her? Everything seems so foreign, so new, so beautiful. And I am destruction.

I keep reminding myself that she kissed me, even if it was only a cheek. That small gesture should tell me that I am being irrational, that I am overanalyzing everything, that I would not bring ruin upon our growing relationship if I take it a step further. But other thoughts come to my mind. I have never truly had a good friend, I don't know how friends act towards one another, especially not how Hermione would act towards a friend. What if that was all it meant? That we are friends.

So I cowardly avoid that vow I made. Because what we have now is better than nothing, and I don't want to risk losing her as a friend.

Now we sit in the library, where we have spent the majority of our time these past few days; a place she enjoys and my father rarely steps foot. But something is off. I know there has been something bugging her, something she hasn't wanted to share, something causing her a sort of distress. I want to know; I want to help put an end to whatever is making her feel this way. But I am afraid of the answer. What if it's me?

I think she is going to take the leap and tell me. Any minute now. She has been glancing up nervously at me for quite a while, building up the courage. And the fact that she must be brave to say it, scares me.

"Draco."

I look up from my book to Hermione.

"I," she takes a deep breath and somehow, I know what's coming. "I don't think I can keep doing this," she says slowly. I close my book and lower it to one side.

"What are you saying?" I ask, panic starting to grow inside me.

"You've been good to me, but I have a home and it isn't here. I think its time for me to go home," she tells me.

"But it isn't safe. You haven't told anyone about the situation and Weasley knows where you live."

Hermione sighs. "I can take care of myself."

"Don't do this," I plead softly.

"Why not? Because I might get hurt?"

"Exactly!" I reply. She gets up from her chair and moves toward the door. "Hermione!" I call after her.

I thought everything was fine. I thought I had time, that she was happy, that things were good. How long had she been sitting there, pretending to read that book when in reality her mind was working hard, planning her escape?

I follow behind her as she enters the hall.

"Can we just talk about this for minute? Please? I don't know what Weasley is capable or why he is after you, but I am worried for your safety," I explain, taking her hand in mine, causing her to turn.

She simply stares into me for a moment, her eyes boring a hole through my mind.

"What am I to you?" she asks.

"What?"

"What am I Draco? You can see how I would be confused right? And I am tired of this. Tired of sneaking around your home because your parents can't find out I'm here. I'm tired of being hidden, of constantly feeling like I don't belong here. You say you're worried for my safety, but what does that mean? Do you really care or is this some sort of game?"

Her words pierce me through like a dagger. Does she think I am the same arrogant, prejudiced and cruel boy I was in school, playing games with the clueless muggle-born?

She's right though. I haven't been fair to her.

"Hermione. I thought you understood what's at stake here. My father is . . . not a good person. He will attempt terrible things if he discovered you here."

"And that's just it isn't it. I don't belong here," she says sadly.

"You're safer here than at your place," I argue.

"Am I? Am I really? And what will he do if he finds me?" she asks.

"I told you. I won't let him near you," I assure her.

"Draco," she looks at the floor. "I just –"

"What's this really about Hermione? When did this start? I thought," I take a deep breath and run my fingers through my hair. "I thought things were alright."

"I am leaving now," she says firmly. "And when you . . . figure things out, you can find me."

Once again, she turns away from me and heads down the hall moving toward my study where she can floo straight home. This can't be happening! She's going to get herself killed!

"Stay, Hermione. Please, stay," I beg, continuing to follow her.

She turns once more to face me.

"Then give me a reason," she demands.

I'm at a loss. What more reason does she need than there is someone after her who knows her and knows where she lives! This is not some joke, some game; this is her life!

"What can I say? What can I say to prevent you from doing this?" I ask.

"I don't want you to _say_ anything!"

"Then what? What do you want me to do? I don't understand!"

"Kiss me!" she shouts. "I want you to bloody kiss me!"

I freeze. "What?"

"I've been here, in your _home_ for over a week. You nearly kissed me, but didn't." she shrugs. "I thought you were simply nervous so gave some reassurance. But you didn't do it. So now I'm here, feeling like a _complete_ idiot because it's been a week! So, you obviously don't want to and I can only assume that you've been playing me for . . . whatever reason. I don't know what you want from me, but apparently I was wrong about you."

"Hermione," I whisper, my heart breaking.

"I know how I must sound; trust me I know. But I've been hurt too many times to stay here any longer and fall victim to your games."

"I'm not. I'm not playing you. I'm not." I don't even know what to say.

By not wanting to ruin things between us, I have coincidentally ruined things! I don't know what's wrong with me. Why am I acting this way? I've never been this way.

I look into her eyes and see a swirl of embarrassment, hurt, frustration.

"Hermione. I'm not good enough for you. Don't you understand? You are amazing, strong, beautiful and I'm an ex-Death Eater who the world thinks should be locked in Azkaban. How could I possibly think that you would want anything to do with someone like me?"

"You think _you're_ not good enough for _me_?" she asks, eyes softening.

"How could I think kissing you would be a good idea? I wanted to. I bloody well wanted to." I can't look at her. I can't watch her expression so my eyes dance around the corridors. Anywhere but at her. "I don't know, I thought if it was the perfect moment, the perfect place, that it wouldn't ruin things."

"You were . . . afraid?" she nearly whispers. _Yes._ "I thought . . . In school you were always . . ."

"You're . . . different," I say quietly, eyes finally coming back to meet hers.

She is shaking her head with just a hint of a smile. "You really are an idiot."

"What?"

"It didn't have to be perfect and I am a girl just like any other. I needed to know where we stood, that I wasn't completely wrong about everything. I needed to know that I didn't make a fool of myself."

I rub my hand across my forehead, at a loss for what to do, how to fix this. She's been hurt by a lot of people and I have done so again without meaning to.

She's waiting and I know what she's waiting for. But it isn't right, it isn't the perfection I was striving for. I know she said it didn't have to be perfect. Maybe I'm just nervous and retreating to childish ways of coping; avoidance.

My heart is pounding as I stride towards her, forcing a confident air to hide my doubt, my fear, my conflicted desire.

"I'm sorry," I tell her, my hand coming up to tenderly cup her face, stroking slowly with the pad of my thumb. "I made you think that I didn't want this when I couldn't get this moment out of my head."

I look into her eyes, watching for any possibility of retreat, of a changed mind, that she doesn't want this. But I see nothing except a mirror of my own desire. And when her lips part, very slightly, I know.

I lean closer, slowly, until our lips touch.

And those tingles I've felt each time we touch become more powerful, pleasantly throbbing within me, growing, expanding, taking me over piece by piece, until it explodes out between us.

I feel her lean into me and respond. Her fingers ghost up the back of my neck and into my hair, making me shiver, and I pull her closer, wrapping my arms around her and deepening the kiss. She moans against my mouth as I caress that bottom lip she loves to bite with my tongue.

A force surrounds us, a power I've never felt before flows through us, joining us together. Every sense is heightened, every touch sends more pleasant tingles of energy shooting through my body, seemingly through the air.

I pull away slowly, forehead still resting against hers. My breathing is ragged, my pulse is racing and I can feel her heavy breathing on my face. This kiss was different, it felt different than any other I've experienced. It was . . . magical.

"Did you . . . feel that?" I whisper.

She nods as she pulls back to look at me. "What was it?"

"I don't know," I reply truthfully. I don't know what it was, but it was amazing."

"What does it mean?" she continues, a hand coming to gently touch her lips.

"Don't know that either."

"Well, let's figure it out tomorrow," she says.

I chuckle quietly. Hermione Granger must always have answers.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So, this was the chapter that was really giving me a hard time. I wasn't quite sure if I liked it, but I think now, reading it through once more, I'm satisfied. It finally happened! Let me know what you thought! I didn't want it to be completely perfect because they aren't perfect people, they aren't an 'easy' couple, they have a lot of problems, a lot of differences, so a perfect kiss didn't really seem right.**

 **But something happened during that kiss. Any guesses?**

 **I'm working full time now so I'm going to give myself Saturdays to work on it and post on Sundays.**

 **I think there is only one more chapter in Draco's point of view and then it switches to Hermione. It's something different, switching in the middle of the story, but if you listen to the song it makes sense, and the rest (other than the next chapter) goes more in depth with Hermione's story. You finally get to know what's going on with her and her friends!**

 **Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. I love you guys and I love reading your thoughts and comments. And if you catch any errors I would love to hear it. This story isn't being Beta'd so thanks again to sshanholtzer44 for all your grammatical catches!**

 **Thanks for reading, favouriting/following, reviewing, and I hope you have a great week!**


	11. I Want You To Know

Chapter 11 – I Want You to Know

March 30, 2001

I wake up, immediately on alert. I am in my bed, in my own room, it's the middle of the night, and everything is silent. Something's wrong. I don't know how, or why, but I am certain there is danger.

Snatching my wand from the night table beside me, I leap out of bed.

"Lumos." My wand responds, lighting up the room as I search for any sign of this mysterious threat.

Everything looks normal, nothing out of place. But my heart continues to pound rapidly in my chest like a chain of never ending fireworks; loud and explosive. Everything looks normal, but I still sense the danger.

What's happening? Why do I feel as though the world is coming to an end? I'm confused, and terrified. My hand forms a death grip around my wand.

Whatever this danger may be is not here, in my room.

Hermione.

If something happened to her in my home, I don't think I could live with myself. I told her I would keep her safe, but now I know, whatever this feeling is, it is after her. I don't know how I do, but there is no doubt in my mind that Hermione is in grave danger.

I run out of my room, bursting through the door and into the hall, wand drawn out in front of me. It is still silent except for the sound of my own lungs, frantically drawing in air as though it may be their last.

I move slowly down the hall, tense with anticipation for anything out of the ordinary. My wand is poised, a spell on the tip of my tongue. Should anyone dare cross my path right now, they would not like what they find.

The dark seems unusually dense and chilling, as though some powerful form of evil is at work. I freeze as I recognize this sensation of dark magic. I felt this way in the presence of Lord Voldemort and that thought in itself is horrifying.

But I remind myself that Voldemort is dead. He's gone. Potter may be a famous, selfish, spotlight stealing prat, but he did slay that beast, banished him to wherever the dead go, never to return. So I keep moving.

A tingle travels up my spine as I come closer to where Hermione sleeps. It's in there. Whatever it is, or whoever, is in that room with Hermione. I take a deep breath. I'm scared, I am afraid for my own life. But I will not be a coward. Not this time. I will not stand aside while Hermione gets hurt.

I open the door, ready to face who knows what; my father maybe, perhaps Voldemort himself, or some other evil form. But there is nothing.

Nothing but Hermione, asleep, in the bed.

This doesn't make any sense. There is danger! I still feel it! It is here, in this very room! But there is nothing.

Unless . . .

I rush over to Hermione's sleeping form, my wand spreading light over her. What if I'm too late and whatever evil is already finished its task and the residue of dark magic is all I'm feeling?

But she turns and I let out a breath of relief. Relief, until I realize that the danger may not be in the room per say, but in her mind. She lets out an agonized moan in her sleep and the light from my wand catches tears on her cheeks.

Hermione is having a nightmare.

But why would I feel that? Why would I possibly feel the need to save her from some unspeakable danger if it is all in her head? I don't understand. What is this that I can feel her fear as though it is my own?

What do I do? She is obviously suffering in her sleep.

I try to wake her up, but nothing is working. Why won't she wake? Why is her sleep so deep that I cannot wake her?

I look at her, helpless but to watch her toss and turn, her hair, sprawled across her pillow and clinging to the moisture on her face.

Knowing I have to do something, I search for anything that could help her; around the room, in my own mind.

And it clicks. Again, it simply comes to me, and I know what I must do.

Setting my wand down on the nightstand, I come beside her on the bed, pulling her against me, holding her as tightly as possible. And I feel her relax in my arms. I feel her speedy heart and the quickness of her breath, but they too begin to slow.

She is no longer struggling against herself, no longer moaning or crying. Her muscles relax in my arms and she falls back into a peaceful seeming sleep.

What in Merlin's name just happened?

I stare wide-eyed at the girl in my arms. I am still thoroughly confused, but don't want to release my grip in fear that whatever was happening in her mind will come back. So I stay, clinging to her, until the adrenaline drains from my system and my own exhaustion once again pulls me into sleep.

* * *

I feel Hermione shift in my arms and blink open my eyes. Sunlight is streaming in through the window and a chilling thought hits me. It's morning. Hermione will be waking soon. I need to get out of here.

With my reputation, this could ruin everything. She will be frightened, confused, and think the absolute worst. I know how the world sees me and while I haven't given her any indication that it is remotely true about me anymore, if there is even a small part of her that doubts, this will be all the proof she needs.

As carefully and slowly as possible, I retract my arms from around her and inch towards the edge of the bed.

"Draco?"

I freeze. This isn't how it was supposed to be. I can't even explain the strange phenomenon that occurred. How could she possibly understand?

"It's not what it what it looks like," I say miserably.

"I know," she whispers.

I turn and look at her. She knows?

"Don't really understand it though," she explains, shaking her head. "I heard you, in my dream. That nightmare has been with me for years, always the same. Except this time, you spoke, eased the pain."

A sickening feeling rises within me, disgust for what I have a think this dream may entail.

"It's that night isn't it. Bellatrix," I state.

Hermione drops her eyes to the bed and pulls the covers over her arms. I realize with an aching heart what she's doing. Covering the scar that marks her left forearm. Anger flares within me as I see shame in her beautiful eyes.

"Don't. Don't do that," I tell her. "You don't have to hide it."

She looks up at me and I see the pain evident in her expression. That scar is something that haunts her, reminds her of the war, of what life was like, of how she was treated, of how I treated her. In a way, it is a branding identifying her with that vulgar name I used to throw around so easily.

 _Mudblood_

That scar is a horrible, evil thing tying her to the past.

So does mine. My scar is the Dark Mark, the stain that ties me to a life I never wanted, a life that will follow me forever.

But I realize, that even though it ties me to those past mistakes, it reminds me of them, of who I want to be, and the progress I've made towards becoming that man.

I go against my better judgement, against everything my instincts tell me to do; hide it, forget it.

I show her.

I bunch the sleeve of my nightshirt up around my elbow and reveal the ugly mark of a Death Eater.

"We both have scars. These things were done to us. They're not something we should feel ashamed of. They tell a story of where we came from, of how far we've come," I say.

Her eyes are wide as she compares our arms. "Tell me about it?" she asks softly.

"I will. But not right now," I send her a smile. "I want to take you somewhere else. Get dressed and I'll meet you outside your door in, say, ten minutes?"

"Alright," she agrees, smiling curiously.

* * *

I lead Hermione outside, to the most beautiful place on the manor grounds; the rose garden. Her hand in mine, we walk down the path. Bushes spotted with pink roses rise from the ground on either side, leading to the golden gazebo at the end, with a crown of white roses above it.

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the sweet aroma of the warm air. The garden is enchanted with a spell that deflects any foul weather, letting in only the sun and a light breeze. During the war this place became neglected and it was as if the dark magic that was used inside the manor was seeping out and infecting the flowers. My mother spent many hours over the past couple years bringing back the light.

I watch Hermione as she takes a breath of her own, closing her eyes to admire the scent of the flowers, a smile pulling on the corners of her mouth. She seems content, almost happy, but the ever-present worries of life keep that smile from lighting up her entire face as it had that first day in the library.

"It's beautiful," she says softly.

"My mother's work," I reply.

"She did a good job," she compliments.

Yes, my mother's deeds in anything beauty-wise have always been impeccable and she enjoyed the work. It was good that she had something to do, something to improve upon, to make beautiful again after the war. It helped to take her mind off the horrors that had occurred and take a step towards moving on.

As beautiful as the garden is, the girl who walks through it beside me holds my attention. She brings something new to this garden, something it has sorely been lacking; life. Sure, the bushes are technically alive and so too the flowers budding from them, but they are simply something nice to look at, to smell, to experience. Hermione is what makes this walk so special.

Reaching the gazebo, we sit down on the stone bench that lies within it. Hermione is looking around in awe, her head tilted back to look at the roses above us, dangling through the top of the shelter.

"Hermione," I start. She looks at me with those eyes of melted chocolate, burring their way to my soul. "You asked me if I would tell you about what happened."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," she admits, her eyes drifting back down to the bench.

"No, I want to. I think . . . I think it's important that you know," I explain.

She nods, looking back at me.

"I'm sure our stories are very different. We were on two different sides. And they were indeed very opposite." I clear my throat. "I believed a lot of shite back then. From what my parents told me, I held Voldemort up as a hero, someone who was going to bring us the status we deserved."

I pause. I wasn't sure what kind of response I would get when I told her that, but she looks at me with a genuine interest, an open mind, not jumping to conclusions as her friends would have done.

"Voldemort's return was a lot different than I thought it would be. Don't think I really realized what that would look like. In reality, what I thought was going to make my life great was the worst thing to ever happen to me, and my family."

I swallow. I've never actually told this to anyone before and it isn't exactly easy. The flashbacks to those days of terror shake through me at every word.

"It's alright, take your time," Hermione tells me quietly, placing her hand over mine and giving it a light squeeze.

I take another deep breath.

"A lot happened around the same time. In a single year things went from dark to terrifying. My father lost the prophecy and the last bit of favour he carried with Voldemort, he was sent to Azkaban, and Voldemort took over the manor as Death Eater headquarters."

I run my fingers through my hair, shame contorting my face.

"Manipulation was a largely used tactic, and I fell victim. I was confused and angry, my world was turning upside down. Then came an 'opportunity' as they called it. I would receive the Dark Mark and fulfill a task to bring favour back to my family. It was supposed to make things better, make things easier for my mother." I shake my head. "They glorified it. Said it was only a small task and would protect my mother."

"So you took the mark," she said quietly.

"Yes. Worst decision I ever made. What I didn't know, what the others neglected to tell me, was that my task was not some quick and easy fix, but the murder of one of the most powerful wizards alive."

"Dumbledore," she whispers.

"I didn't want to do it, murder wasn't what I thought I signed up for, but he threatened my mother and I didn't have a choice after that. After that first task, more came. I was afraid. For my own life, my mother's, I had to do many horrible things. Each murder I was forced to commit etched away at my soul and that's when I realized the horrifying truth that it all meant nothing. Everyone dies the same, no matter what their blood status."

"Draco," she says, concern in her voice.

"I've been working to get away from my past for so long. I never realized how good it would feel to tell someone."

"You've never told anyone?" she asks. I shake my head. "I'm sorry. I wish I could have helped you somehow."

"You have. More than you know," I tell her.

"Thank you, for telling me." She looks as though she wants to say more, but stays silent, looking out at the garden.

I wonder what she's thinking. She seems so accepting, much more so than I thought she would be. But I shouldn't be surprised. She knew what occurred on my side of the war and still gave me a second chance.

"I know, you have to get to work, but I have a feeling that there's a lot you haven't told anyone either. If you ever want to, I'm here, I'll listen, I'll understand. It's freeing to get it out there," I say.

She smiles. "Maybe I will, someday. Still trying to figure things out." She looks at the ground. "My story of the war isn't over yet."

"Alright. Just know, your story doesn't have to end with a solo battle."

We sit in silence for a while, listening to each other's breathing, admiring the garden. It's amazing that we can just sit here and be completely comfortable with the silence. It is a light, airy, informative silence that astounds me. It is a breath of fresh air, a silence that I can feel working within me to bring healing.

When it is time for Hermione to head to work, I stand from the stone bench and lead her back to the Manor and to my study where she can floo to the ministry.

"Will I see you at lunch today?" she asks.

I smile. "Of course."

"I'll see you later then," she says, stepping into the fireplace with a handful of floo powder.

I turn and am about to leave my study when an elf pops into my path.

"Master wishes to speak with Draco," the small creature announces timidly.

I sigh. "Can't it wait?"

"N-n-no. Master doesn't like to wait," it squeaks, practically shaking.

So my father has been beating the elves again. As if they don't already obey the best they can. I get the feeling my father simply enjoys tormenting the servants.

"Fine. I'll come," I agree, if only for the sake of the elf.

The poor thing, still trembling, leads me across to my parent's wing of the Manor and to my father's study.

"Leave us," he says without glancing at the elf.

"Father," I greet coldly. "I see you've been intimidating the help again."

"I do what I must to get things done." He pauses. "But it's not me we are going to discuss here. Oh, no. We need to discuss the vermin you let in here." He stops again, searching for a reaction, the one that I am fighting extremely hard not to give him. He must have seen us outside, discovered that Hermione was staying here.

"How dare you bring a mudblood into the house! Just because the Dark Lord is gone does not mean we get to abandon all morals," he scolds.

"Morals? _Morals?_ " I see red. He has gone too far this time. He wants a reaction? I'll give him one.

"You call torturing and killing innocent people moral? You call helping a mad man to create a world of darkness moral? You call helping said man to hunt down and kill a teenage boy moral? You call tormenting the innocent creatures that do everything in their power to keep you happy moral?" I am fuming, marching closer and closer to the man until my finger is jabbing his chest.

"Look in the mirror. You are no pureblood. I've learned a very important lesson and it's about time you learn it too. She's not the mudblood. You are." His eyes go wide but I won't let him respond. "Hermione is not inferior, never has been. She is better. She is more pure than you'll ever be. So look in the mirror the next time you say that word."

I realize I may have gotten too close and given him an opportunity. In the time it takes me to respond, I am staggering backwards, cursing in pain, blood gushing from my nose.

"Don't forget that this is my house. I am the head of the Malfoy family and you will obey," he warns.

I cry out in pain as his cane collides with the side of my chest, knocking me to the floor, struggling to breathe.

"That girl comes nowhere near the Manor," he commands.

"And . . . if she does?" I taunt, mustering the strength to pull myself off the floor, ignoring the shooting pain in my ribs.

"I swear; you will not enjoy the result." He's quoting me, using my own words and twisting them back onto myself.

"You will not harm her. I don't care if I send you to St. Mungoes in the process. You have gone too far this time. It doesn't matter that you are my father, I will protect Hermione and you would be wise not to cross me." I don't wait for a response and I don't need him following me out, so I disapparate, savouring his last expression of utter shock.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **I sure packed a lot into this chapter! It is the final one in Draco's POV, so the next one will start Hermione's story. Don't worry, I'm not finished with Draco's story yet, I'm not going to leave it here! I just want to switch the focus to Hermione.**

 **I actually really loved writing this one. I hope his story wasn't too boring. I tried to mix it up a bit, but it was pretty Canon compliant. Let me know what you thought! What happened with the dream? What about the end with Lucius? He really is quite nasty in my story.**

 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed for the last chapter, I really appreciate you guys taking the time to thoughtfully comment. As always, any critique you have, whether good or things I can improve are very welcome. I want to be growing in my writing throughout this story, so if you see anything I can work on, please let me know.**

 **Thanks for reading and have an amazing week!**


	12. The Sign

Chapter 12 – The Sign

March 30, 2001

My story is a continuous one. I can't really tell where the war ends and where the rest of my life begins. It's all just one big messed up existence. Things have never exactly been easy for me, but they have gotten harder over the years. Even now, when things finally seem to be looking up after a long haul of emptiness, I keep waiting for the fall, the fiery explosion that marks the steady decline.

With everything that has been going on with Ron, leading to a whole lot of tension in my other friendships, I'd forgotten what it felt like to be wanted, to be happy or at least content. Who would have known that Draco Malfoy would be the one to remind me?

I step out of the lift at the fourth level of the Ministry and make my way to my office.

"Good morning, Hermione," Kara greets.

That girl is the closest thing I had to a friend for a long time; that is, until Draco appeared. Kara is a nice girl, she can be quite sweet, but we haven't really spent much time together outside of work. When I met her in America, it was a very dark time for me and we bonded somewhat then. But our almost friendship is perfect for the workplace.

"Good morning," I reply, sending her a smile and entering my office.

I close my eyes and exhale slowly. Another day. Another Friday. Another week has passed.

Don't get me wrong, I love my job. I get to bring hope to people who are being shunned for something they can't control. I get to advocate for people who have done terrible things with no memory of the event. I get to bring light back to those stuck in a seemingly endless dark place. Lycanthropy can be devastating, but it can be managed. I have the opportunity to walk with those who have been bitten through their journey back.

It's the rest of my life that wears me down; the nightmares, Ron.

Walking over to my desk, I set down my bag and slump down into the chair. As usual, I open my top drawer to pull out my schedule book and pause at the picture I have hidden there. Why don't I move it to a less used drawer? I don't have an answer, but every time I look at it, it brings back memories and saddens me.

The picture was taken shortly after the war was won. A difficult time for all of us as we attempted to comprehend the significance of what happened, of the losses we suffered, of what it meant for our future. It was the last time we were all truly together. Soon after, the next round of chaos began.

I shake my head and close the drawer, hiding the picture once again. Flipping through my schedule I find I have a couple meetings with clients in the afternoon, paperwork and people to contact before then, and lunch with Draco.

Draco. Such a curious thing. Somehow, even from the very beginning we have understood each other in a silent and unspoken way. We were both victims to the war, both fighting to recover. He understands me as no one else has been able to.

And he makes me feel wanted.

The way he looks at me with a softness in his eyes, an admiration, is something I'd forgotten existed. And it feels good. As much as I hate to admit it, I do like the recognition he gives me.

He sees me. He sees all of me; the bright, intelligent, girl I've always been, and the hurt, broken girl that has overpowered the former. He sees me and understands.

And something happened, I know. There is some magical force between us that I am uncertain of. It was strange and magnificent, explosive and pleasant, and I have no idea what it was.

The kiss. That was what triggered it, and somehow, Draco came to save me, even though the danger I faced wasn't even real. Maybe it's some sort of sign that this is right. It felt almost familiar, as if that is where I belong, I was always meant to be in his arms.

But that's ridiculous. It happens only in fairy tales and my life is no fantasy. I don't have a 'Prince Charming' to instantly fall in love with. Love at first sight. That's what they call it. I don't believe it though. I used to. When I was little. I used to imagine meeting a boy and immediately feeling sparks, marry the next week.

Life isn't a fairy tale, and love doesn't flourish at the first glance. But that kiss, that explosion of something I cannot name, it was not my imagination. And it must have a cause.

I sigh at my thoughts. There is nothing I can do now about this matter but commit to researching it later. And I will. I have the Malfoy library to give me resources, so I will find answers.

I push the wonderings from my mind and pull a file in front of me from off the pile to my right. The most boring part of my job, but it must get done.

Time passes slowly as I move from one file to the next and set up a few meetings for next week. It won't be long now until I can move on from this tiresome part and to lunch, the real beginning of my day.

There is a knock on my door before it opens and Kara pokes her head in.

"Harry Potter is here to see you," she tells me, seeming slightly unsure.

I take a deep breath. This is not what I need today.

"It's alright, send him in. Thanks Kara," I reply in a calm façade.

Harry tries, he really does, but it's been difficult. Ginny despises me after the breakup and he is trapped in the middle of the whirlpool, being pulled under. I know he just wants us all to be friends again, but there are some things that simply can't be. I'm pretty sure Ginny has gone so far as to forbid him with speaking to me, as we have not even come face to face in months and we work in the same building.

Harry walks through the door, and sits down in the chair across from me.

"Where've you been?" he asks and my brows raise.

"Hello to you too Harry. No, 'how've you been,' going to skip straight to the 'where've you been' are you?"

His hand comes up to his forehead. "Look. I'm sorry. I haven't been the friend I should be. I was worried." His eyes meet mine and I can tell he is genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine. I'm doing a bit better," I tell him.

"I'm glad. And I really am sorry I haven't been around."

"I know, you've been busy," I say.

"I just . . . Ron's back. He went to see you and you weren't home. I wanted to make sure you're alright."

Of course, that would be why Harry is making more of an effort now. Ron is back, meaning there is an opportunity to rekindle our friendship. I look down at my desk. As if I need a reminder that he returned. He told me quite plainly when he broke into my flat.

I consider lying, but this is Harry and I care enough to tell him the truth.

"I've been at Malfoy Manor for a little while," I tell him.

"What?" He's hurt, worried, confused. "I don't understand."

"Harry, Draco's been there for me when I really needed someone. When you weren't there." I know I'm rubbing it in, I know I'm hurting him, and I hate myself for it, but I can't stop myself from saying it.

"But he's . . . our enemy, a Death Eater, a Malfoy."

"Was. He was our enemy, a Death Eater. Guess he still is a Malfoy, but that one really can't be helped. The war changed all of us, and Draco was no exception," I clarify.

"So, you went there. You trust him that much? When was the last time you even saw him before now?" Harry asks.

I sigh. "I've been meeting with him regularly for a few months now."

"And, you're alright?"

"I am," I reply, and surprise myself at the truth behind those words. I am alright. Ron's back, and I'm alright. Harry is sitting in front of me, and I'm alright. I have been at Malfoy Manor with Draco Malfoy, and I'm alright. I'm not falling to pieces. I'm alright. At least for now.

"Hey, I don't suppose you personally have been by my flat, have you?" I ask curiously. If Ron was there, maybe it's been cleaned up by now.

Harry shakes his head. "I haven't." He takes a deep breath. "Look, I know he said some things he shouldn't have and ran away from his problems as usual, but he's back, and he's ready to forgive."

I tense. Forgive. Of course, Ron would play the hero, he would play the role of taking the high ground. And of course, Harry would fall for it.

"Maybe you should leave," I say calmly, ignoring the urge to explode and hex the man who I used to call a friend.

"Hermione – "

"Maybe I'm not ready to apologize." I lock eyes with him, willing him to see the desperation and hurt within them.

For an auror, he isn't all too perceptive. He keeps going, "I know the war was hard on all of us and you're still healing, but I want us to be friends again. All of us," he urges.

"Harry, please. You don't know as much as you think you do. Please. I'm meeting someone for lunch," I say.

"Malfoy," he states, a cold glare in his eyes.

I begin packing up my bag as he stands.

"Yes," I reply, making my way past him and to the door, turning to face him once more before making my exit. "And Harry, I do miss you."

I walk to the lift without a glance back. As much as he wants to, Harry doesn't understand, he doesn't see me for who I am now, he sees what he thinks I've done. He's giving me a second chance, but I don't need a second one, I just want my first one back. Ron took that from me.

But Draco, he understands me. Now I know. He knows my pain, shame, fear. He experienced it. He's still living it, just like I am. I want to heal, I really do, I'm trying. But Harry and Ron make it so difficult.

Draco could be the key. He's hurting too. I wish I could have been there in sixth year, supported him, been on his side instead of Harry's, intent on hunting him down. But now I can. We can support each other.

And it scares me how strongly I feel. It's different, different than it was with Ron, but that doesn't mean I'm not terrified of my feelings. I care about Draco. I care about what happened to him, I care about what he is still going through. I want to help him heal as much as I want to heal myself, if not more. And it scares me.

But I'm not running. I'm Hermione Granger and I'm brave enough to face terrifying realities. It's something else I am just now remembering. I am brave. I am courageous. I can face this fear head on.

I can go to lunch.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hermione's POV begins and the mystery continues! I think this was a good introduction chapter into Hermione's story. Let me know what you think!**

 **Thank-you so much to all of you who reviewed for the las** **t chapter. You really made me smile. As always, I love to hear your thoughts on what's happening on the story, any predictions you may have, and also anything I can improve on.**

 **Thanks for reading and I hope you have an amazing week!**


	13. Somewhere, Somehow

Chapter 13 – Somewhere, Somehow

March 30, 2001

He's acting normal, but I can tell, something is wrong. We sit in a grassy park under a tree that's blossoms are just beginning to bloom. It is still early for a picnic lunch so the park is quite empty, but with a slight warming spell, it is rather pleasant.

But there is something Draco isn't telling me. Does he think a simple healing spell will prevent me from noticing that someone has broken his nose? I know the slight signs that a magical healing leaves behind. There is also something in the way he moves. He's in pain.

He acts normal, handing me a homemade looking sandwich from the basket, smiling. He thinks I won't notice. Somebody hurt him and he isn't telling me.

My mind wanders through every possibility. Could it have been one of the other Slytherins from school? Could it be someone from his past as a Death Eater? Could it be someone who's life he ruined during those dark times?

I know, there was a lot of pain that went around during the war, a lot of loss, fear, destruction, death. Even so, I thought, since he told me what he had this morning, that the secrecy was finished.

Maybe it's my need for control, my desperation for answers, but I have a feeling it's something much more dire that calls for me to break this awkward falsity. I'm worried. I'm afraid for his safety, afraid that he will be taken from me before anything can really start between us. He is all I have left, the only person who really cares what happens to me and I can't lose him.

I take a deep breath.

"Stop it," I whisper.

"What?"

"Just, stop pretending that everything's alright," I explain.

"I don't understand," he replies.

"I think you do. Something happened after I left this morning. Didn't it?" I put my hand over his and give it a small squeeze. "Remember what you told me earlier? It doesn't have to come down to a solo battle?" He stays silent, staring intently at the ground in front of us. "Please, tell me. What happened?"

He closes his eyes and sighs. "I guess you deserve to know," he whispers, more to himself than to me. His grey eyes drift to mine, serious and intense. "My father. My father's what happened," he nearly growls.

"He hurt you?" I ask softly.

He chuckles ruefully, shaking his head. "Only after I hurt his ego a bit."

"What do you mean?"

"He saw us, knew I brought you to the Manor and wanted you never to return. He called you a mudblood so I told him to look in the mirror and he'd find one."

My hand flies over my mouth to hide the laugh that bubbles up from within me.

"You called your father, Lucius Malfoy, a mudblood," I clarify, still trying to prevent myself from laughing.

Oh how I wish I could have seen his face! The image my mind pulls up is hilarious.

"Yes, I did. I guess it is a bit funny," he says, a smile pulling at his lips. "He sure didn't think so."

"I can imagine!" But then I remember what really did happen and my smile drops. He had a reaction and it wasn't funny. He hit his own son. "Draco, I'm sorry." I shake my head. "I shouldn't be laughing. He hurt you."

"There's something else," he tells me, his eyes regaining that sombre demeanor. "He threatened you. Well, us really, but mostly you. He doesn't want you at the Manor." He pauses, letting the words sink in. "If you want to go somewhere else," he continues. "I'll set you up in a hotel."

I open my mouth to argue but he doesn't let me. "I don't want you at your flat alone. I don't care if you think it's fine, it's not. Weasley knows where you live, he's already broken in once, and I don't want to find out what else he's capable of."

I get a warm sensation growing in my chest. He really cares. He cares about me enough to stand up for me, to offer to get me into a hotel, probably a nice one. He cares enough that he doesn't want any risk of something happening to me.

But then I remember my promise to myself. I need the Malfoy library if I'm going to discover what the hell happened during our kiss, why Draco was able to somehow know about my nightmare.

"And what if I want to stay at the Manor?" I ask slowly.

Draco seems surprised, as if he thought I would wish to be gone from the Manor as soon as possible.

"Why?"

"Truthfully? The library. And, I trust you Draco. You said you would protect me. You knew your father wouldn't approve, you knew what could happen, what he's capable of, and you said you would protect me. I trust you." The smile reappears and it is a beautiful thing.

"Alright," he agrees. "But know, if at any time you don't feel comfortable, tell me and I'll get you out. I already told him I would protect you even if it meant cursing him."

We are silent for a moment before I ask, "Do you think he'll try something?"

Draco shrugs. "He isn't really one to do his own dirty work, but he has these ideas about me, about his beliefs in blood superiority. If Voldemort did happen to come back," I shiver at the mere idea of it, "my father would follow him without a second thought. He thinks I've lost my way and you're the one responsible. I wouldn't underestimate him."

I take a deep breath, thinking. What do I remember about the trials? Lucius Malfoy got out of doing time in Azkaban because he defected, he helped name other Death Eaters, he said he was finished with acting on his prejudice. But what was his exact sentence? I remember it was big in the press that he had gotten off and everyone was complaining about his sentence being too light.

House arrest. And there was something else. It hits me. "He can't use magic," I say. "Can he really be that dangerous without it?"

Draco sighs. "Well, he is very capable of harming others, even without magic, and he has the house elves completely terrified of him. He can still order them to do whatever the hell he wants them to, and they will obey. So in a way, he still does have magic at his disposal, he's personally just not allowed to conduct it."

"So, he could get the elves to hurt me?" I ask, thinking out loud.

"In theory."

"What's he doing to the poor things?" I whisper, appalled that someone could use the creatures that way.

"You don't want to know. It's not good. But it keeps them doing what he wants them to do, so he doesn't care. And there isn't much I can do to stop him." He shakes his head sadly. "He won't listen to me anymore. I'm just a disappointment. In his opinion, I'm lost, losing my mind. My mother might be able to, but I don't want to put her in harms way."

"He hits her?" I ask softly.

"I've never seen it, but I have my suspicions. He gets angry and takes it out on whoever is nearest. She can still use magic so she could be covering things up."

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

"Don't be," he says. "There's nothing you can do about it." He pauses. "We've talked enough about my morning. How was yours?"

"Well, mine wasn't all that much better." I take a deep breath. "Harry dropped by."

"And that's a bad thing?" he asks, trying to understand.

"Not really," I admit. "Just a bit awkward." I push some hair behind my ear. "You see, he hasn't been around much and we haven't talked in a while."

"So why did he now?"

"Ron," I simply reply.

"Weasley? What's he done now?"

I wonder how much I should tell him. He has been so open with me today and I have shared practically nothing. He deserves more, but that means saying things out loud and reliving those memories; both difficult to do. I wish things could have gone back to the way they were before the war with us three, but it didn't work out that way and it makes for a complicated mess.

I remember Draco's words from earlier, that it's freeing to let the weight of everything I have been piling on top of myself slide onto someone else, that I don't have to do all this alone.

I close my eyes. "I think it's time you know what happened," I say. Letting my eyes open again, I see his features have softened with genuine concern.

"Only if you're ready to tell me. I know, it's difficult," he assures me.

"I think I am," I reply. Maybe. Maybe it's time. My heart is thundering in my chest, and I realise I'm afraid. Why am I afraid? Because nobody else knows knows. Nobody except Ron.

"So, you know about what happened to Fred, right?" I ask sadly.

"He was killed?" Draco replies softly.

I nod. "It was really hard on Ron. He'd never lost anyone before and he didn't know how to handle it." I pause. "Our first kiss was during the battle and we started dating after the war was over. He seemed sad, which was expected, but other than that he seemed fine. But things started to change. The smallest thing would set him off, he got the strangest ideas in his head and he wouldn't be able to let it go."

I look out at the field, the brightness of the green in the light of the sun. "When it came out that the ministry was going to give out rewards for war heroics, Ron told me I didn't deserve one, that I needed to give it up or else he would spread rumours about me; rumours serious enough to put me in Azkaban if he fabricated proof."

I turn my eyes back to Draco. "Now, I'm not one to care about a reputation all too much and I didn't want to end up in prison so I stood down, let him have it. I knew he was hurting and did my best to help him. But he was beyond help."

I clear my throat. "I stayed with him a while after that. Too long in fact. It was after I moved in with him, after Ginny and Harry were married, that things got really bad. When he added physical abuse to what I later realized was psychological abuse, I couldn't stay."

Draco's hands ball into fists at my words, but he doesn't say anything.

"I knew how short his temper was and that, along with the things he had now convinced himself I did, led to a very bad combination. I realized what the war really did to him, and it was devastating. The sweet, bumbling Ron that I wanted to believe so badly was still in there, somewhere, he was gone."

I take another long breath and stare at the ground in front of me. "So I left. I went to America for a few months to get away from everything for a little while. When I came back, Ron had convinced everyone that I cheated on him, that I ran because I was caught, and people believed him; especially Ginny. Harry is still Harry and wanted to make things right again, but things have been tense."

"Weasley? How could he possibly convince people that you, Hermione Granger, the most careful, rule-following, kind person, cheated on him?" Draco asked, astounded.

I shrug. "I don't know exactly. Apparently he had some sort of evidence. He left shortly after that himself, saying he just couldn't be around me anymore, and I didn't know he was back until the letters. That's what Harry wanted to talk with me about. Ron's back and apparently he is ready to forgive me."

" _Forgive_ you?! But you didn't do anything wrong!"

I didn't realise how good it would feel to hear someone else say those words. Draco supports me, he cares about me, he believes me. And it feels amazing.

"He's playing the hero in all this and Harry is too quick to believe the things Ron says. He just wants us all to be friends again and put all this behind us, but he doesn't know the reasons why things happened the way they did."

"Have you told him?" Draco asks.

I look down. "No."

"Well, maybe you should. It sounds like Potter would want to know that he's trusting the wrong person. I'm sure he doesn't want to hurt you," he suggests.

I've wanted to tell Harry for a long time, but I was afraid that he wouldn't believe me and it would ruin any chance of maintaining even the small bit of friendship we may still have. I'm still afraid. But Draco's right. He would want to know.

"Maybe you're right." I pause for a moment, quickly going over the pros and cons in my head. "I will," I decide. "I will tell him." I look to Draco. "Monday," I add, causing him to laugh and shake his head.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So, not a whole lot went on in this chapter, but hopefully it was still somewhat entertaining. It was mostly just explanations. What do you think about the situation with Ron? Why is he back? What does he want? Let me know what you think!  
**

 **Thank you so much for the reviews on the last chapter! I'm working full time now, and with kids so I am super exhausted. But seeing a review in my inbox really makes me smile and encourages me to keep writing. I love hearing from you!  
**

 **Next chapter I have planned is a fun one. I think Narcissa is going to make another appearance and maybe we'll learn a little something when Hermione researches what happened with that kiss.**

 **Thanks for reading and I'll see you next Sunday.**

 **P.S. - I'm also writing a bunch of oneshots for a writing competition I'm in, most are Dramione. So if you're looking for something else to read, check them out!**


	14. Between the Lines

Chapter 14 – Between the Lines

April 1, 2001

Maybe this was a bad idea. I know I told Draco I don't have any of those, but I do, and this was one of them. Why did I think wandering the halls of Malfoy Manor, alone, was a good idea? To find Draco of course.

Draco had left me in the library with some heavy wards, which prevented any living creature apart from myself to enter or exit the room. I was safe there, protected. But I _brilliantly_ decided to leave.

You see, I have been doing research all weekend on two subjects; one I have been researching for years, the other, something recent that could change both my life and Draco's.

On the first, I have not made a whole lot of progress. I haven't found much since the end of the war. My parents. I wiped all memory of me from their minds, and am desperate to give those memories back, but the spell is much more complicated than I previously anticipated. I miss them so much, but I also don't want to mess this up. They're safe for now, they just can't remember me. And even though that fact is killing me inside, I could do them so much more harm if I try to reverse the spell prematurely. So I research.

I have picked through about a third of the library so far and found a few books that seem to have potential helpfulness, but nothing concrete just yet.

The kiss. That explosive, strange, magnificent kiss. I was coming up empty. I have been in the library for most of the past two days and found absolutely nothing to describe what we experienced. Draco had someone to talk to over floo and said he would be gone a couple of hours. He said he would be in his study and left me in the library, ordering me – which I did not so much appreciate but saw the sentiment behind – to stay there.

But did I listen? No. I didn't. Because I found something. It was a dusty old book, up in the very top right hand corner of the library. The book seemed almost lost and hidden.

 _The Guardian's Codex_

Somehow, I knew this was it. This was the book that held the answer to the explosion between us, the eruption of power that we felt. And I was right.

So now, I need to find Draco, because this could change everything.

But I'm lost in the vast expanse of hallways and doors that make up the Malfoy Manor. I've been here for so long, I thought I would be able to find my way. I was mistaken. Apparently, Draco has been guiding me through; me, having absolutely no idea how to get around myself.

This isn't good. Not at all. And I'm starting to panic just a bit. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, hugging the book tightly to my chest as if it has the ability to protect me from what could happen.

I can't imagine growing up in a place like this, being so small in a place so large. I could picture some terrifying instances. I remember how large the house I grew up in seemed when I was little. In reality, it was nothing much, but as a child, it felt like a mansion.

I feel like that child again, only I am not familiar with my surroundings. Everything is never-ending, it all looks the same. I don't even know which wing I currently find myself in, but Merlin help me if I've found myself on the wrong side.

Why couldn't I have simply waited for Draco to come back? Because my brain is fried. There is so much going on and apparently, my mind is not invincible, it cannot take an infinite amount of stress. So I was impatient, impulsive, and now, I pay the price.

Why do I constantly allow myself to wander into danger? My whole life I have been doing it, whether it's to protect friends, end a war, or believing there is good in someone where that goodness is long gone, taken, destroyed. This is my own fault.

"Miss Granger?"

My heart skips a beat and I nearly leap into the air at the voice. But it isn't Lucius Malfoy or some elf, but Narcissa.

"I apologize. I didn't mean to startle you," she says. "What are you doing on this side of the Manor?"

"I got a bit turned around," I respond truthfully.

"Yes, this place is quite the maze. I remember when I first started living here, I got lost quite a few times. Where is it you were trying to go?" she asks a small smile stretching across her lips.

I think I like this woman. Draco said she still holds the same prejudiced beliefs as always but she's different than I expected. I've only seen her from afar a couple times, one of which was that night her sister tortured me. She has always held this elegance about her and I assumed it was matched by a bitter and cold personality. I was wrong.

My stupidity in getting lost in the Manor could have been an opportunity for ridicule, a sort of proof of my inferiority. But she doesn't take it. She doesn't make me feel small or insignificant, or a waste of space. She's real, sharing the fact that it isn't just me who has gotten lost here.

"I was trying to find Draco. He said he was in his study, but I can't seem to remember where that is," I tell her.

"I'll take you there," she offers.

"Thank-you."

"Didn't he warn you not to wander off?" she asks.

"He did. And I know, it wasn't too smart for me not to listen. I wasn't thinking. I have a lot going on at the moment," I explain.

Narcissa leads me back in the direction from which I just came. Of course, I would be going the exact wrong way. I notice something in her eyes as they glance down at the book in my arms. Does she recognize it, know what it is? But she doesn't say anything.

"So, you and Draco seem to be getting along," she inquires.

"Yes," I reply, a small smile pulling at my lips.

Narcissa looks at me as though she wants to hear more. I'm not sure what I should say. How close is Draco with his mother? How much would he be comfortable with her knowing?

"You don't have to say anything more if you don't want to," she tells me, easing my uncertainty on the subject. "I'm glad that he's found you. He struggled for a long time. The war was . . . damaging. And even after it was over it was hard on him. I noticed the change months ago. He's happy. Happier than he's been in a long time."

"So, let me get this straight. You approve of me?" I am blunt in my question and confused. I need to know what's going on.

She smiles. "I still don't believe you are good enough for my Draco, but he does and even though you aren't exactly who I always had in mind for him, I care more about him and his happiness than I do about keeping the Malfoy line pure. It may not be easy for me, but I want what's best for Draco."

I'm not really sure how to respond to that, so I walk beside her in silence.

Narcissa sighs and continues. "Draco has a big heart. He has become a good man. But that heart of his has been manipulated far too many times." She stops walking and looks me straight in the eye, smile disappearing. "I want to make sure you are here for the right reasons."

Does she think I am only spending time with Draco to get to his family fortune? Does she think I'm manipulating him to do something he doesn't want? I guess with their money and beliefs that I'm little more than garbage, it isn't surprising that she may have those doubts.

"I understand you are only looking out for Draco and I appreciate that. But I'm not here to hurt him or whatever else you think I'm doing. He's been, really my only true friend for a few months now. We're both still dealing with the fallout from the war and I think you'll find that you and I have similar interests when it comes to him; healing. I need that too. So don't think I am some money grabbing whore. I care about Draco," I explain.

The smile reappears. "As I thought."

"What?" I'm confused. Was this some sort of test? An interrogation to discover my true motives?

"I didn't like it, but somehow I knew. Draco needs someone who understands that the war was an evil thing, no matter what side you happened to be on. He needs to be able to do good, be able to protect someone, have someone to stand up for. He needs to feel strong again; good again. Somehow I knew it was you, that you were that person," she tells me.

Of course. I'm just the person to make Draco himself again. I'm still confused, but it seems as though she has already moved on as she continues walking down the hall.

"So, where do you see this going?" I ask curiously.

"Marriage," she says casually.

" _Excuse me?_ "

Narcissa laughs at my astonishment and incomprehension.

"My dear, I do see how you would be confused, I was a bit myself, but I saw you two together and he's happy. I've never seen him look at another person the way he looks at you. I can feel however I like about the situation, but in order to do right by my son, I have to accept the fact that you are in his life and he is better because of it."

"And where does marriage fit into this?" I question, still a bit shocked by her statement.

But she doesn't answer. Her eyes merely drift to the book in my hands once again and again that sparkle alights.

"Well, here we are," she says. We are back in Draco's wing of the Manor and standing beside his study.

"Thank-you for helping me find it," I say.

"You're welcome," she replies, already making her way back down the hall.

I push open the door that is already ajar, knocking lightly as I do so.

"Hermione, what are you doing here? I asked you to stay in the library. Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine. I know, I didn't listen and I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. Guess I thought I knew this place a little better than I do," I tell him.

"Must've been urgent then?" he inquires.

"Yes. I found something," I say, walking over to the desk and opening the book to the correct page. I lay it out so we can both see.

"What is it? I don't remember ever seeing that book. But I guess the library is rather large."

"The Guardian's Codex. It contains mostly spells of protection, some of detection, and this," I explain, pointing at the page. " _Amoris Vinculum_."

"A love spell? I didn't think such things existed."

"Not exactly. It's a spell that only affects true love. It doesn't create love and doesn't do anything if love isn't already present."

"What does it do?" he asks.

"Creates a bond between two people. The book describes it as _a bond of true love that connects the feelings and emotions of two people. A strong surge of emotion from one person will be felt by the other. Used mostly in cases of war, this bond can allow the couple to protect one another in times of trouble and find each other if separated,_ " I say, reading aloud.

"And that means?"

"When one person feels, for example, intense fear, the other will feel the same thing," I explain. I can see the gears turning in his mind as he realizes how this could relate to our situation.

"The book also describes that the spell is activated at first kiss with a powerful build of magical sensation," I describe.

"Alright. A 'powerful build of magical sensation' sure sounds like what happened between us," he says quietly. "It's a spell, so, it needs to be cast?"

I nod. It means that someone cast this spell on us and we had no idea.

Draco takes a deep breath. "My mother," he nearly whispers.

"You think your mother cast this spell on us?" I think about it for a moment. The strange conversation I just had with the woman, the way her eyes kept glancing at the book. It's possible. "I had a run-in with your mother on my way here."

Draco's eyes lock onto mine. "And?"

"And it was quite strange. It was fine at first, I got a bit lost and she was showing me here, but then she started talking about us, and questing me about my intentions. She told me she didn't think I was good enough for you then said she sees _marriage_ in our future. I was quite confused, but now, it makes more sense."

"Wait a second. My mother interrogated you?" Draco asks.

"Somewhat, yes. But I think, in a way, she was making sure she made the right decision," I say.

Draco groans and covers his face with his hands. "I just can't believe she would do something like this. But she did. That spell explains how I knew about your nightmare. And the other seemingly random emotions actually."

I remember the anger and inability to hold my tongue when Harry confronted me on Friday; Friday when Draco had the encounter with his father.

"It does," I state quietly. I look to Draco whose grey eyes are piercing through me. "But if it worked . . . "

"What does that mean? Is it saying . . ." Draco wonders aloud.

"We're friends," I decide. "Friends love each other and that love can be true."

"Of course. It just means we're true friends," he agrees, though I can see the slight disappointment in his eyes.

I think we both know how idiotic that sounds but, it's better than the alternative; that a meddling mother just told us we're in love.

But that can't be true. I know I feel something for him, but love? I'm not so certain. Friends. Friends, I can handle.

"So, what now? This is insane," I say quietly, the extent of the situation hitting me.

"I'm sorry. You didn't ask for this. And now we're . . . what . . . connected?" Draco takes a deep breath and steps away from the book.

My mind is swirling, just another thing to add to the long list. I have an thought. A completely insane, utterly terrifying thought.

"Do you believe that things happen for a reason?" I ask quietly.

"Not particularly. What are you getting at?"

"Your mother isn't a seer, is she?" I question.

"No," he replies.

"Could she have consulted one?" I continue.

Draco's eyes grow slightly wider. "Now, that's possible. But I still don't understand."

"Alright. Just keep an open mind here. Why would she use that spell? It's meant for war, for life or death situations. Yes, it's a love spell, sort of, but it just doesn't fit that she would use it on us. There's a lot going on at the moment, with my past, and yours, Ron coming back, your father. What if this isn't simply your mother meddling in our relationship. What if. . .what if something's going to happen?"

We lock eyes. He knows it's possible. He knows it's the only thing that makes sense right now.

And we feel fear.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Parts of this chapter I like, other parts seem a bit awkward to me, but oh well. I fixed it up the best I could.**

 **The meaning behind the strange kiss is revealed! Let me know what you think! Do you think Hermione's suspicions are correct? What's going to happen?**

 **I didn't get as many reviews on the last chapter, which was a bit disappointing; even a few words mean a lot to me. For those of you who did review, thank you so much! I love you guys and it means the world to me to know you're enjoying my story!**

 **One of the things I'm really liking about this story is how Narcissa's role is developing. I haven't written one with her character playing a larger part yet and I think she is very dynamic and intriguing to write. I'm interested to know what you think of her in my story.**

 **I have also posted three Dramione oneshots this week for the competition I'm in (well, the third will be posted today) so check it out!**

 **Thank you for reading and I hope you have a wonderful week!**


	15. Is It True, or Just Me?

Chapter 15 – Is It True or Just Me?

April 5, 2001

I'm being paranoid. That's all this is, all it must be. This is in my head and the bond Draco and I share means nothing but a mother who wants to keep us together.

I've been telling myself these things all week. Nothing has happened, every day has been completely normal, yet, I am on guard. At every sound, I jump, every sudden movement, my heart leaps to my throat. Nothing has happened.

So, maybe it's just me; I'm jumping to conclusions. What reason could Narcissa Malfoy possibly have to consult a seer? And I work at the Ministry, which has very strict security measures in place since the war. At the Manor, Draco is here and I know he won't let anything happen to me.

Things do seem a bit unresolved. Alright, very much unresolved. But that doesn't imply that some terrible thing is going to occur. I'm being silly.

I step out of the fireplace and into Draco's study after another long day of work, a normal day of work.

"Hey," he greets with a smile. He sits behind his desk, which is covered with neatly stacked parchments and files. "How was your day?"

"Fine," I reply. I see he wants to ask more. There's something bothering him. "What is it?" I sit on the very corner of the desk.

He sighs and looks up at me. I have a feeling I know what he's going to ask and I know he'll be disappointed in me when he hears the answer.

"Have you told him? Have you told Potter what happened?" he asks.

I close my eyes and run the tips of my fingers over my forehead.

"No. I haven't," I admit.

"Hermione, we talked about this."

I look at him. "I know, I know. I will," I say, wincing as I hear the useless excuse behind my words.

"You said Monday –"

"And now it's Thursday, I know, I have to." I'm ashamed of myself. Harry was my best friend, still could be if he knew the truth. But here I am putting off telling him how wrong he has been, the lies he's believed. I just wish I could go back in time and get myself out of this mess before it began, but I can't. So, now I have to suck it up and deal with it.

"What's keeping you from telling him?" Draco asks softly.

I think about that question for a moment. Why haven't I told him? Why have I let myself be alone for so long? Why haven't I fought for myself?

I look down at my left arm. The mark is thoroughly covered by layers of fabric but still manages to haunt me. It tells me I'm weak, unworthy, inferior, ugly, useless; all in the cackling voice of Bellatrix Lestrange.

And I know that they are the words of a mad woman, a woman set in her prejudiced ways, brainwashed to believe I don't deserve to exist. But every time I see where the scar marks my arm, even without seeing the word itself, my mind goes back to those lies; weak, unworthy, inferior, ugly, useless.

So, what if Harry loves Ginny more than me? What if that plays a role how he responds to the news I tell him? I want to tell him, I really do. But the weight of it is too much.

"I'm afraid," I finally reply, my eyes shifting back to Draco's.

"That he won't believe you?"

I take a deep breath. "Harry loves Ginny. He'd do anything for her. And she is convinced that Ron is telling the truth. He is her brother after all, and I can understand her wanting to believe him. But it makes me think that maybe he won't believe me. Especially after so much time has past." I glance back down at my arm, the words hitting me once more.

 _And how can I expect Harry to take my side against his wife?_

"Why do you keep looking there? Where your scar is?" Draco asks.

"It's nothing. I'm not," I deny, shaking my head.

"You are," he argues. "Does that have something to do with why you won't tell him?"

"Of course not," I respond, but my argument is lacking strength.

Draco is silent, thinking, before suddenly reaching into a drawer in his desk, taking out a blank piece of parchment, and beginning to write.

"What are you doing?" I ask, curious.

"You'll see," he replies without looking up, careful to keep, whatever it is he's writing, hidden.

"Draco, come one, what is it?"

"Patience, Hermione. I can't think with you rushing me like this."

So, I wait, my tip toes dragging across the floor, making light scratching sounds against the wood. I look around the room, searching for something to keep my mind off my overwhelming curiosity. It's amazing how comfortable I have gotten here, in the study, in the library, in this hall of the Manor. I smile at the thought. It wasn't long ago when the prospect of coming here was terrifying, a world ending proposition. But now, even with the possibility of Draco's father lurking, the Manor feels safer than my own home.

I have to admit, even though I consider myself a fairly patient person, I'm really not. I like having the answers, I like things to happen when I want them to; I guess you could say I like to be in control. Right now, Draco is doing something right in front of me, but won't let me see. And it seems to take forever, because I like knowing things.

"Alright," he breathes. "Here you are."

He hands me a folded piece of parchment and I raise a brow at him.

"Oh, and, don't open it until tonight, when you're just about to go to sleep," he adds.

"What? Why?" I ask.

"Because it's better that way," he replies, shrugging his shoulders. "And no more thinking the way you're thinking."

I give him a questioning look.

"I know what you're thinking because I do it too. The scars we carry have meanings, and they're harmful, even if they aren't true," he explains.

So, he does know a bit about where my thoughts are.

I hop off the desk to avoid the stacks of parchment and move around it to face him directly.

"I don't know what this is," I say, waving the folded paper. "But, thank you."

I smile and lean down to him, lightly kissing his cheek. He takes the opportunity to gently guide my chin with two fingers so my lips meet his.

Draco is getting more confident and I definitely don't mind. It's one of the things the war stole from him and I like knowing he's getting a bit of himself back.

I respond with a quiet moan as his hands move to my hips, pulling me closer, before gliding up my sides. I shiver at the contact. His fingers drift to the back of my head and deepen the kiss.

"I think . . . I like . . . this thank-you," he whispers against my mouth, accenting the words with kisses.

I smile.

* * *

I haven't read his letter yet. I promised Draco I wouldn't read it until I was about to go to sleep, and here I am, in my night robes, already under the covers, and holding the parchment in my trembling fingers. Why am I shaking? Is it nerves or excitement?

Was this the reason he made me wait, to have me thinking about it for hours, building anticipation? I need to know. I honestly have no idea of what could be written on it.

I take a deep breath and unfold the paper.

 _Hermione,  
_

 _These are some things I think you should know; some things I love about you:  
_ _The way you bite your bottom lip when you're nervous  
_ _The way your head tilts just a bit to one side and your eyes narrow just slightly when you're thinking.  
_ _The way your smile, your real smile, reaches your eyes, crinkling just a tiny bit in the corners, but lighting up with joy.  
_ _You don't know your own strength. Yes, you've got quite a bit going on, but it doesn't shatter you into a mess someone else needs to pick up. You're one of the strongest people I know.  
_ _Your thirst for knowledge and answers to even the most complex question is inspiring.  
_ _You genuinely care about people, no matter who they are.  
_ _And the list could truly go on and on.  
_ _Remember, you are strong, brave, beautiful, and can do anything you put that spectacular mind of yours to.  
_ _Remember these things when you go to talk to Potter. If he doesn't believe you, he doesn't deserve the privilege of being your friend._

 _Draco_

I stare at the parchment in front of me, tears coming to my eyes. I don't think anyone has ever said these things to me. Well, except my parents. My heart clenches at the thought.

I push down my tears, even though I am alone in the room. A new determination floods through me, a birth of resolution. I will tell Harry, I can, I can do it. Even if he doesn't believe me and that chapter of my life is ending for good, I'm not alone.

Draco has shown me in those few words that he is a better friend than I've ever had. Who would have ever thought that the boy who teased, taunted, humiliated me in school, would be the one person I have left who appreciates me?

It may not be a muggle hating Dark Lord this time, but I'm still possibly in some sort of danger. I need to tell Harry, attempt to make him understand, be by my side like I was for him all those years. But if that doesn't happen, if he doesn't believe me, I don't have to go through this danger, whatever it may be, alone. I have Draco.

I think of Narcissa and what she said about him. What I never saw before now, what my friends refused to even consider, is that Draco has a huge heart, and cares deeply about things, about people. It isn't right how the world treats him.

And I swear to myself and to him, that after all this is over, no one will treat Draco that way again. He has so much to offer the world if they would just give him a chance.

I smile to myself. I like that I have gotten to know this side of him. It is almost as if fate brought us together and no matter what forces try to drag us apart; we were meant to know each other this way.

We need each other.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Sorry for the long wait! I was away for the weekend and didn't have wifi. So, here it is and I will have the next one up for Sunday.**

 **This was a sweet chapter that made me smile to write. Let me know if it made you smile!**

 **I also wanted to ask your opinion of shorter chapters. I have the next few written and they just kind of had a place where they ended. I don't really want to force out more words just for the sake of making the chapters longer, so what do you think? They would be about 1,000 words, or a little over. Is that too short? There's a lot going on in them and it kind of feels right to end them where they are.**

 **Anyway, let me know what you thought of the chapter and what you think of the shorter chapters, I do really love your opinions!.**

 **Thank-you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, you made me determined to get this chapter out to you sooner than Sunday. I really appreciate you taking the time to review, and many are leaving very thoughtful ones. I love you guys and hope you are enjoying reading my work.**

 **Have a great rest of your week and I'll see you, hopefully, on Sunday as usual.**


	16. Still Have the Letter

Chapter 16 – Still Have the Letter

April 6, 2001

I am going to tell Harry today.

I have already prepared myself for the confrontation, Draco's letter tucked in my pocket where I can easily reach it if I happen to need a bit of reassurance. There is a very good possibility that I might, given the fluttering of nervous butterflies seeming to multiply in my stomach as the time grows closer to when I meet with him. I'm still afraid of what could happen, of what Harry's reaction might be, but I'm not going to let that fear win and put this off any longer.

Harry needs to know the truth, needs to know that he's been deceived. And I know how hard that can be to grasp. The betrayal I felt with Ron, I didn't want to admit existed. But it did and I learned the hard way that things don't always turn out how they're supposed to.

Ron and I were supposed to be together, at least, that was what everyone told us. Harry still believes that. But Ron isn't who he used to be and it's time Harry sees that.

The morning, like most, was quite uneventful. A bit of paperwork, a few confirmation letters, setting up more appointments for future visits. It left me the time necessary to decide that today is the day. I will not wait another weekend. Harry Potter will hear my side to this story. So, as I worked this morning, I also ran through what I am going to say.

I will remind him of our friendship, of what we went through those years at Hogwarts, those days on the run when I stood by him even without food, in the cold, with the fear of death lurking behind us at every turn.

The lies Ron told broke us apart and I will not stand by and let it go any further. I will tell him about the breakdowns, the threats, of the real reason why I was never recognized as a war hero. I will tell him about the day Ron truly snapped, when he threatened to kill me in his anger, when he hit me, threw me to the floor. The day I realized what he'd become. I will explain the reason I left; not because I was caught cheating on him, but because I needed to get away from him for my own safety, for my own well-being.

I will tell Harry all these things and wait to see if he believes my words, if our friendship can be rekindled. I don't want to lose him forever, but I've accepted the possibility and it no longer controls me.

I will tell him; when I get back from lunch with Draco.

And no, it isn't another excuse to put it off a bit longer, Harry is on a case at the moment and won't be back until then. But I will be waiting for him when he does return.

Right now, I am enjoying the walk to the café. I'm in a surprisingly good mood today, appreciating every little thing, even the heavy rain that is currently pouring down on me.

My mood could be due to the amazing sleep I had last night. It was as if reading Draco's letter before bed banished Bellatrix Lestrange from my dreams, preventing the terrors she brings. I smile to myself. Yes. It was nice not to wake up with sweats and chills, terrified.

We've been trying to control the dreams for a while, because now, it isn't only my sleep they disturb. But nothing has seemed to work. That is, until last night, when I drifted off happily into a dreamless sleep and knew it would be a good day when I woke up.

My hair is drenched, my clothes wet, but I embrace the feeling. I can simply use a drying spell when I get inside anyway. Why not have a bit of fun in the puddles forming on the ground and truly feel the tingly drops of water on my skin?

Then, something changes. A shiver runs up my spine, a feeling of dread forms in the pit of my stomach. I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart. Surely I am only being paranoid. The fact that something bad is going to happen is only a theory with absolutely no proof to back it up. Nothing is going to happen now.

Then why has my previously wonderful mood suddenly taken a turn towards skin crawling fright? I subtly glance around. Nothing seems out of the ordinary.

I'm fine. I'm going to be fine. It isn't particularly busy today, but there are still some people walking here and there. What could possibly happen while I am out in public midday?

But the feeling remains so I quicken my pace. I'm being paranoid, like I have been all week and nothing has happened. I just need to reach Draco.

My eyes scan the area once more, still seeing nothing. The sensation of being watched, of being followed, of predatory eyes on me just waiting for the perfect moment to pounce, only gets stronger.

What if whoever is following me is disillusioned and the rain is hiding any imperfection in the spell? This isn't good. Could it possibly be that this moment is the reason for Narcissa casting the bond?

I keep moving, constantly watching, on guard. Reaching my hand into my pocket, I wrap my fingers tightly around my wand. I won't go down without a fight.

Suddenly, something hits me, throwing my body into the air. I crash to the ground in an alley between two buildings and know I'm in trouble. I scramble, desperately searching for my wand which has fallen from my pocket, ignoring the throbbing pain from where I hit the floor. I see it, my only hope of escape, my wand, on the pavement just out of arms reach.

Then it's gone.

My eyes widen, my heart racing out of control. I still don't see anyone! I get to my feet, ready to run, when I am hit again. My head smacks against the brick wall behind me, and everything goes black.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hello my wonderful readers! I hope you had an awesome week!**

 **This was one of my shorter chapters I mentioned last time. In my opinion, it just ended there and I didn't want to force it, so I hope it's alright.**

 **Some real action is happening now! What do you think? What's happening?**

 **Thank-you so much to everyone who reviewed, you put a smile on my face every time. I appreciate you guys so much and love to hear that you like my story.**

 **Next Friday I go on vacation for almost three weeks. Hopefully I'll have wifi and be able to post. I just want to keep you guys in the loop.**

 **One more thing: I feel like I'm not as great at writing action scenes so, if you have any pointers, see anything I can improve upon in this area, I would love to hear it!**

 **Thanks for reading, reviewing, favouriting/following! I hope to post next Sunday!**


	17. Caught

Chapter 17 - Caught

April ?, 2001

I wake to darkness. My head is pounding, my body aching, my mind, racing with thoughts.

Where am I?

What happened?

My memory floods back: the rain, the chilling fear, the hidden attacker, the disappearing wand. It all seems so disjointed and strange.

I'm sitting in a rather uncomfortable chair and it's dark, very dark. I can't tell where I am.

It's cold, dank, empty feeling, but I could be mistaken about that.

What is now absolutely clear is that I've been kidnapped. But by who? What do they want from me? I thought I was finished with all this when the war ended.

I try to move my limbs, do something to attempt escape, but I find I am bound by magical binding that only tightens with my struggles.

This is not good.

How long has it been? How long have I been in this place? I can feel the dampness of my clothes against my skin, still a bit wet from the rain. It must not have been too long, but then again, I can't be too sure when the air is so chill and damp itself.

I take a deep breath in an attempt to keep the panic at bay. I need to stay calm, keep my head, if I'm going to get out of here. My heart is still racing, my gut clenching with fear and nothing seems to help.

Not being able to see anything, I focus on what I can hear; a quiet dripping noise, the tiny scampering of some small creature.

There is something above me, something shuffling, or maybe someone. Am I in some sort of cellar or basement? Whoever it is above me, because I am now sure it is a person, is pacing back and forth.

I wonder who it is, what they're planning. Why did they bring me here? A shiver passes through me at the thought that they may be building the courage to come down here and kill me. I am defenseless completely vulnerable. If their plan is to end my life, there is no escaping.

The bond.

Draco can feel my fear. Maybe he can find me before this person makes their final decision of my fate. But if I don't know where I am, how is he supposed to find me?

I am helpless but to wait. My mind is constantly running through any possibility of what could happen, each thought more terrifying than the last.

But then I remember the folded piece of parchment in my pocket, the letter Draco wrote, and somehow it calms me. Someone is looking for me, someone who cares enough not to rest until he finds me. As long as I have that letter, that small piece of Draco with me, I have hope.

Suddenly, there is light, an uncomfortable brightness that makes me squint my eyes. Terror floods me. Now is the moment when all my fears become a reality, when every horrifying thought running through my mind comes true.

I subconsciously scramble back in the chair, causing the binds holding me to painfully tighten. This could be the end.

Ron.

He stands in front of me, unrestrained anger seeming to pulse through the air.

"Ron, what are you doing?" I ask in a small voice.

I really don't know him at all anymore. I don't know who I expected to see as my captor, but Ronald Weasley was not it. I never thought he would go this far.

"What I should have done a long time ago, Hermione." He says my name with such malice, such distaste, such rage, it shocks me.

"Why? I don't understand. We we were friends first, best friends."

"We were never really friends though, were we?" he asks, leaving me even more confused.

"Of course we were," I assure him.

"You were working for them all along," he accuses.

"Who, Ron? Who do you think I was working for?"

"You're a Death Eater. That's the only explanation. You've been a Death Eater all along!" he shouts.

My eyes widen. He truly believes his words.

"No, don't you remember? I helped you and Harry. We hunted down and destroyed the Horcruxes together," I remind him.

"It was all a trick. Stop playing your games Hermione. I may have been too closed minded to see it before, but now, you can't hide your loyalties any longer."

"We were captured together; I was tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange –

"All faked," he interrupts. "We weren't there to see it, you faked those screams, were probably laughing between each one at how gullible we were to fall for it."

There isn't much more I can say. He thinks I planned it, lied about it all. And nothing I say will change his mind.

"In fact, the entire war was your fault, your doing. It's because of you Fred died!"

It's as though someone has stolen the air from my lungs. He blames me for everything. He blames me for Fred's death.

"You're not even a muggle-born," he finishes.

"What? You think this - whatever you think it is - goes so far that I lied about even my blood status? Ron, none of this is true!" I insist, begging him to believe me, desperate for him to see how ridiculous his claims are.

"We'll see. Now that I have you restrained, I can reveal the Dark Mark you've been hiding for years."

So, he's looking for proof. I'm slightly relieved. Once he sees that no mark is hidden, he will drop all this madness.

Ron unveils his wand and mutters the incantation of a revealing charm over me before pushing up the sleeve on my left arm. Taking a firm grip on my arm, he releases the binding and turns it over to expose the forearm.

"There. The Dark Mark is revealed."

My eyes widen in shock. He is staring at the word Bellatrix carved into me that night, but is seeing something completely different. He's delusional, seeing only what he wants to, and now he has proof of deception.

The fear returns full force, as though a hole has been dug in my chest.

My arm is bound to the chair once more and Ron steps back, running a hand through his hair.

"Lucius was right," he whispers to himself.

Lucius Malfoy? I knew Ron would never do this on his own. He's being manipulated! His fears about me that I know he had long ago, are being preyed upon.

"You need to be destroyed before anyone else gets hurt," Ron announces.

"Ron, listen to yourself!" I beg. "You're believing the words of Lucius Malfoy. You know he worked for Voldemort. Why would you let him tell you anything?"

"He owled me. As a concerned father, assured me he's changed. He said you've been in a romantic relationship with Draco Malfoy for years and he is worried for his son's safety. You're unhinged, unstable. Who knows what you might do?" he explains. "You were seeing him before the war even started, when we were together! You became a Death Eater with him. You're evil Hermione, and I will be the one to stop you."

How could Lucius possibly know what to say that would set Ron off like this? He can't kill me himself because of Draco, so he manipulated Ron to do it for him!

"But, I'm not going to kill you right away," he says, getting close to my face. "I want you to suffer first. You caused so much pain, I think it's only fair that you feel some before you die."

"Ron, listen to me. You cannot believe what that man tells you. I know how hard Fred's death was on you. I saw how much pain that caused you and I'm so sorry it happened. But I'm not responsible for it. I'm not a Death Eater no matter what you're seeing. You're sick, Ron. You need help. I'm sorry I didn't see it earlier," I tell him.

"Stop it!" he screams. "Stop trying to trick me!"

I hate seeing him like this, with madness in his eyes, hating the world, hating me. I miss the old Ron so much.

He has begun pacing once again, back and forth in front of me.

"I wonder how far you got in his ranks. Maybe even higher than Bellatrix herself. You're so very talented at making everyone believe what you want them to. He got you inside good, didn't he? Such an elaborate scheme. Got all the information he wanted from you, didn't he? But guess what. We were better than you and that evil master of yours. Now that man you looked up to so much is dead!"

He's breathing hard from his rant, but not yet finished.

"I just feel so betrayed. I thought we were friends. You were in my home, with my family! I _loved_ you Hermione! And what do you do? You killed Fred! You were trying to kill Harry! And don't think I missed the fact that you tried to get him alone in that forest on our Horcrux hunt. You got me all riled up and I left, not realising your intentions. But I came back didn't I? I foiled your plan when I dragged him out of that lake!"

His mind is changing the memories. I should have known it was getting worse when he first started to accuse me of lying about the war. Now, his delusions are full blown and I'm not sure he can be brought back.

"We were friends. And I never wanted to hurt Harry. It was Voldemort's soul inside the necklace that tried to drown him, it wasn't me. These things you accuse me of just aren't true. I think, deep down, you still know that. I loved you Ron. I did. You were my best friend and first love. Don't do this. You know me. I'm telling the truth."

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" he yells.

I see the light catch on the blade of a knife he just pulled out of his pocket. I can't breathe. It's as though the fear has snaked up inside me and is squeezing my chest so tightly that no air can travel through. Ron isn't in his right mind. He's going to do something that will haunt him if he ever gets better. If he ever returns to himself, he won't be able to look in the mirror.

"Ron, don't do this," I plead, tears coming to my eyes.

"I said, _shut up!_ "

I scream in agony as he plunges the knife into my leg.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hello to all my amazing readers! Oh no, it's another cliffy! I know, it's mean ;P But I also felt it was a good place to end this chapter. I don't think you'll really know that until the next chapter though. Anyways, let me know what you thought! Were you surprised? What about how Lucius is involved in all this? Again, if you have any suggestions for how to improve scenes like this, I would love to hear it! (I would also like to hear if you're enjoying it ;P)**

 **I am on vacation now so, I may not reply to reviews as quick or at all this week, depending on how much time I have and the wifi I have access to. But I will be reading them at least at the end of each night and I will still be appreciating them just as much as always! I will try my best to have the next chapter up for you next week!**

 **So, again, review and it will make me smile and my vacation even brighter ;) I will try my best to reply to each, but no promises (Doesn't mean I'm not extremely grateful) and I wish you all an awesome week!**

 **Thanks everyone for reading!**

 **(PS. I'm just about to go to Harry Potter World at Universal Studios! AHHHHH! So excited XD)**


	18. Who Have I Become

Chapter 18 – Who Have I Become?

Who am I?

It's a strange question to be asking at a time like this. It's a time when I may not exist for much longer. But still, the question remains.

Who am I?  
I know who Ron has convinced himself I am, I know who Draco thinks I am, but who do I believe myself to be?

I'm losing blood quickly from the wound in my leg, my head is spinning, I feel weak, but all I can think is how I don't even know who I am anymore. I'm going to die not knowing who I am. I know the answers to so many things, except the one I should know best; myself. I cannot die without knowing!

Books used to be my priority, striving towards knowledge; my purpose was to learn everything I possibly could. But not anymore. Sure, I still like to have the answers, I enjoy spending my time in a library, though that's no longer my ultimate drive.

Things have changed a lot since school, I've changed a lot. I think I'm stronger than I was before. I've started a path for myself; a career I'm proud of, with goals for the future. I realize that the largest difference between who I am now and who I was, even a few months ago, is the fact that I'm not living for others. I think I've given up on having the perfect reputation, on caring so much about what others think. I no longer have to worry about earning affection because I know that no matter what happens, Draco will be there.

No matter what.

No matter what.

It might all be ending.

With Ron marching back and forth, waving that knife in my face, now coated in my blood, continuing on with his rant, nothing is certain. He isn't in his right mind. He isn't the Ron I knew, the Ron I loved.

He's getting more and more worked up; his yelling getting louder and making less sense than even before. I know it won't be long now until he is finally pushed off the precipice he is precariously standing upon and falls down a path he can never return from.

And I am helpless. I am bound to this chair, vulnerable to wherever his madness may take me.

I'm beginning to feel separated from my surroundings, the yelling seeming to fade into the distance, the pain in my leg seems to be getting almost farther away from me. I won't last much longer without medical attention.

But the fear is still very much present.

Draco will find me. He will.

I close my eyes and call out for him in my mind. I know our bond doesn't work that way; it only connects our emotions, but it gives me that small push, that tiny bit of hope.

 _Draco!_

 _Draco!_

The thought of never seeing him again haunts me. It strikes me that perhaps Narcissa was right, or at least the bond. We were kidding ourselves to think we were only friends because I have this feeling spreading within me; a desperate longing for his touch, to see his face. I can't be certain if it's the situation, the loss of blood, or the fear raging inside me sending these thoughts, but I think - and this terrifies me almost as much as Ron with a dagger, holding me hostage – I'm in love with him.

This realization gives me strength. I must hold on; I must see him, must tell him. The thought keeps my heart beating fast and my lungs filling with air. It keeps me holding on.

"You must be stopped, you must be stopped, you must be stopped." He begins repeating the words, muttering them under his breath. Every time he says it, he gets louder, until his fists are tugging at his hair and the mutter has become a scream.

Suddenly, he stops. It's as though a sense of clarity has come over him. But I quickly realize the horror that it isn't clarity that causes him to cease his ranting but a deeper level of madness.

He slowly turns and faces me, his eyes taken over by wild hatred, and says the chilling words: "Now, I will be the one to stop you." He stalks closer. "And I won't give you the satisfaction of a wizard's death."

My breath is gone, eyes wide, as I see what he's done; see the knife ripped from the place it had pierced my abdomen. The ache builds to an unbearable pain that envelopes my every sense.

I see blood. It's even more than before, and I know the these are my last moments. A final bout of adrenaline seeps through my veins and causes my entire body to shake as my eyes remain glued firmly to the sticky red spreading down my robes.

I'm fading . . .

I'm fading in and out of consciousness.

Something's happening . . .

 _CRASH_

There's someone upstairs . . .

They broke something . . .

I can hear them . . .

They're coming . . .

I hear them on the stairs . . .

It's Harry's voice.

I don't understand.

He's yelling.

"Ron, RON! _What did you do?_ "

He came for me.

How?

How did he come?

How did he know?

"Malfoy, no! I'll take him, you take care of Hermione!"

Draco. He's here. I see him struggle against Harry as he furiously lunges at Ron.

He stops and our eyes meet.

"Hermione!" he yells.

I feel his desperation. He is watching me fade, seeing the blood, feeling my fear, my weakness.

Draco.

"I had to. _I had to!_ " Ron is shouting back at Harry, defending himself.

His wand is aimed at him, shaking.

"Don't make me hurt you, Ron."

I never thought I'd see this. Harry has his wand pointed back at Ron, friend against friend.

"She's the one! She's the one!"

"You said you were ready to forgive. You said you wanted us all to be friends again. That's why you were back, that's why you were at her flat, why you wanted to know where she was," Harry accuses.

"You wouldn't have believed me! She's been working for the enemy all along! A Death Eater! It was the only way to make sure it got done!" Ron yells.

It's getting more difficult to breathe.

But Draco's here. He's here. He found me.

I'm not sure how it happens, but the binding holding me to the chair is gone and I'm in his arms.

"Hold on," he whispers. Or maybe says, things are a bit muffled, perhaps just far away. "Stay with me."

"See! Proof!" It's Ron's voice again. "Lucius Malfoy was right. They've been working together!"  
I feel Draco tense and know how the words are hurting him. He thinks it's all his fault. I try say it isn't but no sound escapes my lips.

Darkness is taking over my vision, the world is slipping away.

" _Hermione!"_ The yelling is distant.

" _I love you!_ " The last words I hear before everything is gone.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **I know! Super mean! I keep leaving you guys on cliffy's. Hopefully I'll stop doing that soon lol.**

 **I'm not sure how realistic and accurate everything is in this chapter, but I hope you liked it anyway.**

 **Let me know what you thought! What's going to happen to Hermione? What's going to happen to everyone else?**

 **I'm sorry I never got the chance to respond to some of your reviews, I only got around to the first couple. I've been constantly busy this vacation from going to Universal Studios, to Disneyland, to Warner Brothers and Madame Tussauds Wax Museum. That's all in the past week! (I was also sick with food poisoning for a day, but we don't talk about that XP)**

 **I read you reviews and I want to thank everyone so much, they mean a lot to me. And, again, this week I will try my best to reply to all reviews, but I can't make any promises. I am moving to a different area to relax a bit on the beach, so I'll see what kind of wifi I have there.**

 **Thank-you so much for reading and following/favouriting and reviewing. You guys are awesome! I hope you have a wonderful week!**


	19. Good To You

Chapter 19 – Good To You

April 7, 2001 - Evening

I slowly blink open my eyes, the world around me gradually losing its fuzzy edges. My entire body aches terribly and I have this dry, chalky feeling in my mouth. Eyes scanning my surroundings, I find I am in a bed at St. Mungos.

Draco is sitting in a chair just to my left, head bent into his hands.

"Hey." My voice is little more than a croaky whisper but causes his head to snap up and his worried eyes lock onto mine. He looks as though he hasn't slept in quite a while, with dishevelled hair and slightly bloodshot eyes.

"You're awake." He sounds so relieved, as if he thought it may not occur. Draco takes my hand, squeezing it lightly. "Healer says you'll be alright. Wasn't anything too difficult to heal with magic."

"What happened?" I ask.

"You don't remember?" He's beginning to panic.

"I remember that part," I assure him. "How did you find me? Why was Harry there? What happened after?"

"So many questions," he says, smiling slightly. "You wouldn't be yourself if you didn't want all the answers." Very True. "But now, you should rest."

"I need to know. You can't expect me to just lie here and wait until you think I've rested enough. You know perfectly well how much more stressful speculative wondering is for me," I say.

Draco sighs. "Fine. Not sure if you're going to like all that you hear though," he warns, making me worry. "I knew something had happened the moment it did. And when you didn't show up to lunch," he shakes his head. "It was absolutely terrifying."

I can see the pain in his gaze, the way it accents every word, every movement. He blames himself.

"It isn't your fault," I tell him.

He looks at me. "It was _my_ father who did this."

"It was Ron."

"My father set him off," Draco argues.

"Your _father_. Not you. Draco, don't do this to yourself. I knew what I was getting into when I went on that first date."

"You did?" He seems shocked.

"Yes," I admit. "But now, tell me the rest of the story. How did Harry fit in?"

He clears his throat. "That's the part you may not be too pleased about." He takes a breath. "I went to him. I knew I couldn't find you on my own and was desperate. I told him about everything and, of course, he didn't believe any of it at first. Why should he have? It was me." Draco pauses. "I may have gone a bit too far with trying to convince him to help."

"What did you do?" I ask, not sure if I want to hear the answer.

"I threatened . . ." He looks down at his hand, still interlocked with mine. "I threatened to kill him if anything happened to you because he wouldn't help."

"You didn't." I don't like hearing that he threatened Harry, but I'm not sure whether to be upset or thankful.

"I did," he replies sheepishly. "But I think he understood how serious I was being and agreed."

"Where is he now? Is he alright?" I ask. I know I am interrupting the story that I asked for, but I have to know.

"He's here, in the waiting room. To be honest, he's a bit of a wreck," Draco tells me. "He keeps going on about how this is _his_ fault. Doesn't think he can face you after what happened."

I sigh sadly. "So, you think it's your fault, he thinks it's his fault. Next thing you know I'll be blaming _myself_."

"Don't even joke about that," Draco says sternly.

"I know it wasn't my doing, Ron is sick. I just wish I saw it earlier; wish I could have helped him." It dawns on my that I haven't heard the end of the story. What happened to Ron? "He's alright isn't he? Sorry, I know I'm a bit all over the place. But he is? He's alright?"

"Only because Potter was there. If he hadn't been . . ." he trails off. "Seeing you like that . . . I thought I was losing you." He takes a deep breath. "Potter took Weasley and I brought you here. I still have to talk to him about what's happening with my father." Draco looks down avoiding my eyes. "I should have seen this coming. He must have had a spy. Maybe one of the elves. . ." he continues.

"No, Draco, you saved my life." I clear my throat once more. "And, I do remember what you said." I bite my bottom lip as my stomach flutters nervously. I realize that it isn't only my own nervousness I'm feeling, but his as well. "I made an utterly terrifying realization when I was down there, alone, with Ron." I pause, willing myself to say the words.

"And that is?" he coaxes softly.

"When I was there, on the brink of death, all I wanted was to see you, one last time. Others may have a problem with who your family is and what they've done, but my heart is seeming to against all rationality." I pause. "I'm desperately in love with you."

And in that moment, I feel the greatest surge of emotion I think I've ever experienced.

Love.

I feel so much of it; enough for not one, but two people. It's as though our hearts are joined and this wonderful, powerful force is filling me inside.

Draco lightly traces the frame of my face with the tips of his fingers before capturing my lips in a slow and deep kiss. My eyelids flutter shut as all my senses are filled by him, by the pure passion and love dancing between us.

But far too quickly, he pulls away. Probably doesn't want to excite me too much in my current state. Too late for that.

"I never thought I'd hear Hermione Granger say those words to me," he says.

"Why not?"

He raises a brow. "Gryffindor Princess, one of the Golden Trio, war hero. How could I have fallen in love with the most amazing woman in all the world? And much harder to believe; how could that woman possibly have fallen in love with me?"

"Oh, Draco. I think it's somewhat plausible. Entertaining at least," I reply thoughtfully, smiling. "Many romance novels are based off seemingly impossible relationships."

Draco rolls his eyes and chuckles lightly.

We sit in silence for a moment, hands still joined, simply being together.

"I think you should talk to Potter," Draco says, breaking the peaceful quiet.

"I think I should too."

"I'll try to convince him to come in here," he offers.

"I know you aren't exactly fond of Harry, but thank-you for putting that aside for now, for me."

"All for you, Hermione. All for you," he announces with a smile as he leaves the room.

My heart breaks for Harry. None of this is fair for him. He's been stuck in the middle of the disaster and all he wanted was for us to be friends again, to go back to the way things were before. I didn't tell him what Ron was doing; I left Harry in the dark about everything. I feel horrible about the position I've put him in.

It takes quite a few minutes before Harry finally comes around the corner. His eyes are slightly puffy and red, as though he's been crying.

"I'm sorry," he manages, coming to stand beside me.

"Harry," I whisper. "You didn't know."

"I should have," he claims.

"No. I should have told you," I say. "Sit."

Harry nods and takes the place where Draco had sat.

"It's all a bit of a mess isn't it," I state sadly.

"You could say that." He sniffs and rubs one hand over his face. "I never thought –"

"Don't. I don't blame you, so don't blame yourself. Draco was shocked when he found out I never told you. It was stupid of me. I should have told you from the start."

"Why didn't you?" he asks. I can see how much pain this has caused him.

"I was afraid." I can't meet his eyes. I don't want to see how my words are hurting him. "Not of you. Just . . .I didn't know who you would have believed. Ron's your brother-in-law, your best friend. I didn't want to risk losing what we had left between us."

"I don't understand what happened," Harry says. "Malfoy said . . .he said Ron was abusive towards you when you were together, was writing you threatening letters, broke into your flat. I didn't want to believe it. I just don't understand how he could do something like this."

"The war caused a lot of damage. He couldn't handle it. Needed someone to blame and I was there," I explain softly.

"But to blame you for all of it? He's convinced you're a Death Eater, thinks you're the reason Fred was killed. I don't see how he could have possibly gotten those ideas," he responds, bewildered by the situation.

"And we may never truly understand. He needs help." I take a deep breath. "Lucius Malfoy manipulated him. Somehow, he knew about Ron's ideas and preyed upon them. Draco thinks he may have used one of the family house elves to get the information. He wanted me gone. Thought I was defiling the Malfoy name, that I was trying to break their pure family line. He tried to have Ron do it for him."

Harry nods. "Ron told me about those letters."

"What's going to happen to them? Ron and Lucius?" I ask.

"Well," he looks at me as though unsure if he's doing the right thing. "I'm going to try my best to keep Ron out of Azkaban. As you said, he needs psychological help and he won't get that in prison."

"Good. He's done some terrible things to me, but I don't want him in that . . .place," I assure him.

He runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. "He won't go without a sentence, but perhaps he can be confined to the hospital instead of prison. Lucius on the other hand, was already very close to a prison sentence and I don't think anyone can save him from that now."

My mind drifts to Draco and how this will affect him. He may resent his actions and beliefs, but Lucius Malfoy is still his father.

"I just can't believe this happened," Harry mutters, pausing for a moment. "You and Malfoy was something I never saw coming either. I'm so confused about it all." His head hangs into his hands. "I know I wasn't there for you and he was, and he does seem to care about you. But it's Malfoy and it's so hard to believe."

"I know," I agree quietly. "We've all changed."

"You love him, don't you," he states sadly.

I can't help a small smile at the words.

"I do. He was raised with some questionable morals, but he's stepped out of that life, become his own person; a good one," I tell him. "Are we alright? Can we still be friends?"

"Hermione, these past months I've missed you so much. If you can forgive me, of course we're friends. Always will be. The Malfoy thing is going to take a little getting used to, but I don't want that to get in the way."

"Oh, Harry. There's nothing to forgive you for." I pause. "Have you talked to Ginny? How's she handling it all?"

"She'll be alright. Quite upset right now about everything. She believed what Ron told her and is absolutely furious that he would do this to you. And the way she's been treating you . . . just finding out that it was for no reason . . . I don't think she really knows what to do," Harry explains.

"It's understandable. Would you tell her I don't hold any of it against her? He's her brother, of course she wanted to believe him. I don't have siblings, but if I thought Ginny cheated on you, I'd probably be the same way," I request.

Harry nods and rubs his face with a hand once more. He has tears in his eyes, but smiles when he sees my questioning expression.

"You still compared me to a brother. After everything that's happened," he explains.

"You'll always be like brother to me," I tell him, taking his hand.

"Mother, stop!"

My eyes snap to the hall where Narcissa Malfoy rushes into the room, closely followed by Draco.

"I'm sorry," he tells me. "Mother, it's a private moment."

"I don't care whose _moment_ it is! It will be over now!" the woman commands.

Draco sends me an apologetic look.

"It's alright," I assure him, sliding my hand from Harry's.

Narcissa turns to her son. "See, she says it's alright." He rolls his eyes. "Anyway, my dear." She comes to stand beside me, opposite to where Harry is still sitting, looking dreadfully confused. "How are you feeling?"

"I'll be fine," I say.

"Of course, you're a strong girl. Draco's always telling me as much." Narcissa sighs. "I am so terribly sorry for my husband's actions, and I apologize for my own inability to stop him. He does things so . . . discreetly. I would never have known."

"So, you did consult a seer," I confirm.

"Smart one, too." She takes a breath. "Yes, I did. I have been for a few years now. Never hurts to be prepared. I've learned that I need to take action early in order to protect my family." Her eyes seem to sparkle when she says that word: _family_. It's as though she knows something I have yet to discover. And maybe she does.

"Forgive me if I'm too blunt," the woman continues. "I take it the bond worked?"

"It did, Mother," Draco confirms, rolling his eyes.

"I'm so confused," Harry says.

I sigh. "I'll explain it all later."

I turn back to Narcissa. I'm a bit confused myself when it comes to her. Contrary to her previous claim, it seems as if the woman truly cares about me. She would deny it of course, saying she only did it for Draco's sake, but I can tell from the way she rushed in here that she cares more than she lets on.

"I'm glad everything is working out," she states. "So, did he ask you yet."

"Mother, not now!" Draco mutters angrily, almost a whispered shout.

Narcissa seems far too pleased with herself and Harry looks to be growing quite uncomfortable.

"Maybe I should go," he says, standing up.

"Harry," I begin, looking back to him. "We've survived so much together. You will always be my best friend."

He smiles and leaves the room.

"Really? You two couldn't have waited a few more minutes?" I ask in exasperation.

"I tried to stop her," Draco replies, hands in the air, saying it wasn't his fault.

"I'm sorry. I know, you were anxious to make sure I was alright," I tell Narcissa. "I just haven't really talked to Harry in a long time, and now he finally knows the truth about what happened between Ron and I – it's a long story."

"Yes, well, I don't know what took hold of me," she says.

"I think I might," I tell her with a smile.

Narcissa turns to Draco. "You know that I don't fully approve of this, but after what's happened, it's your decision to make. And every time I see Hermione here, I think it just might right one, even though I don't like it. So, ask her, and I'll support you in any way I can." She looks to me, then back to her son. "I think I'll go as well; leave you two alone."

"Thank-you," Draco says as Narcissa walks out into the hall.

"So, what's this that your mother let out of the bag?" I ask.

He's so nervous, his stomach in a knot, heart beating fast. I can feel it, but I'm still quite unsure as to why.

He clears his throat. "I'm leaving the Manor," Draco announces. "And I know this may be moving a little fast, but I want to get a place of my own in London and I was wondering . . ." he's having trouble finding the words. "I was wondering if you would make it yours as well." He pauses. "Wait, did that sense?"

I can't help the small giggle that bubbles up inside me at his insecurity. "Are you asking me to move in with you, find a place of _our_ own?" I clarify.

"Yes, well, I guess it depends on your answer."

"Perhaps, you're right and we're moving quite quickly," his face falls and I know I need to hurry in my explanation. "But, I can't live at my flat, and the Manor certainly isn't the place," I smile at his incomprehension. "I love you Draco. Where else would I go?"

"So, that's a yes?"

"Yes," I confirm.

Without a moment's hesitation, he kisses me once more.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hello all my amazing readers! A bit of a longer chapter and not a cliffy! YAY! It seems a bit like a revolving door to me and I'm not super sure about it, but I hope you still found it entertaining. Let me know what you thought of it! Personally, I love Narcissa in this chapter and the way she dominates the room.**

 **I know a lot of you wanted something bad to happen to Ron after everything he did and probably won't be happy with how things turned out with him. Maybe it was a bit anticlimactic for you. I thought that it really isn't something Hermione or Harry would want for him. They would be upset about it, confused, but Ron was still their best friend since childhood and, in my opinion, they wouldn't want to see him rot in Azkaban.**

 **But that's my thoughts and I would love to hear yours! What did you think of Harry in the chapter? What about Draco's question? Where will they go from here?**

 **Thank-you so much everyone who reviewed! I think I replied to everyone who signed in as of yesterday and to all the guest reviewers, a huge thanks to you guys as well! You all make me so happy and want to do my best.**

 **So, I'm flying home today :(. I will be on my flight in a few hours, then go straight back to university for a week of leadership training. I can't believe the summer is over already! Anyways, again, it might be difficult to reply right away, but I will try to do that as soon as possible!**

 **I also can't believe this story is already ending! I have one more chapter written and that could be the end. I was thinking of writing one more after that, but I think I'll wait and see. If you guys are begging me to write that one last one, I'll try it. If not, the next one will be the end. Duh Duh Duh . . .**

 **Thank-you so much for reading, I love you guys, have an amazing week, and I'll see you next Sunday!**


	20. Good To Us

Chapter 20 – Good To Us

May 27, 2001

"Come on! I don't want to keep them waiting!"

I'm standing at the fireplace waiting for Draco to finally be ready. Why did he have to look his absolute best tonight? I honestly have no idea. We're simply going to Harry and Ginny's place for dinner.

"I'm coming! Just one more minute!" He calls from down the hall.

I sigh. Everyone thinks it's me who makes us late, but he must look perfect all the time. I didn't notice it at the Manor, but we had a lot of our own space there. I never realized how annoying it could be to live with a person who is so focused on their appearance. It's funny how certain things never really change.

"Alright, how do I look?" he asks, waltzing down the hall to give me a kiss.

"Fabulous," I reply sarcastically.

"Hermione, I'm being serious. It's a big night," he scolds.

"Right, your announcement. You look very handsome. I just don't understand why it's such a big deal. They're only friends," I tell him.

"Your friends," he clarifies.

"That's how you choose to see it. I know that _you_ know it's absolute rubbish. That childhood rivalry is long gone. You're both different people now. You both also refuse to accept that you've become friends," I say.

"Acquaintances. I will compromise with acquaintances."

I roll my eyes. "Come on."

Grabbing a handful of floo powder, I step into the fireplace and throw it down at my feet. I still don't particularly enjoy the strange stretching and twisting sensation of going through the Floo network. In fact, wizard travel in general has never sat well with me.

I brush off the excess dust that has clung to my clothing and step out into Grimmauld Place.

"Hermione!" Harry calls and I am suddenly drawn into a tight hug.

He pulls away and I see Ginny standing a little ways behind him.

"Always good to see you," she says, a smile on her face.

Things are still a bit tense between us, but getting better. She's continuing to deal with the fallout of what happened with her own family and facing how wrong she was in her judgement of me. I forgave her a long time ago, but she struggles with letting it all go.

I hear Draco floo in behind me and Harry greets him with a genuine smile and a welcome hug.

"Friends." I mouth the word to Draco.

"Those two are ridiculous," Ginny says quietly.

"I know; they are so adamant that they aren't friends."

"Old habits I guess," she responds.

We watch as the two men greet each other happily, marching off into the next room and leaving us girls behind.

"You need any help in the kitchen?" I ask Ginny.

She seems hesitant.

"Really, Ginny. What can I do?" I repeat.

"I guess you could set the table," she replies, and I smile.

I can tell she wants to ask something as we move into the kitchen and I hate that she won't. She doesn't want to just pretend everything is okay. What she doesn't understand is that it already is.

"Ginny, just please ask. I know that look," I say.

She pauses another moment, contemplating her words.

"Have you considered what comes next?" Ginny finally inquires as I begin levitating the plates towards the table. It seems like she's trying to bring our friendship back to normal, but still sounds a bit unsure about the intimate question she's asking. "I mean, you and Malfoy seem to be getting on quite well and all . . ."

"I have," I admit. "Just not sure I'm ready yet. Don't really like making permanent decisions."

"If I could give you some advice," she pauses again, takes a breath, and continues when nod my head. "Stop thinking so much. Sometimes, you just know," she tells me far too timidly for my liking. "What do you feel?"

"Everything. Literally, everything," I respond.

"Oh, that bond thing, right? Still not sure how that whole thing works."

"It's confusing, because I can feel how right we are, the love we share, but also the frustration, the annoyance. One moment I know he's the one and the next I'm questioning everything."

"To be perfectly honest, marriage isn't everything I thought it would be. Sure, there are some times that are absolutely amazing, but there's also a lot of shite you have to deal with." Ginny takes another breath. "What I'm saying is; the frustration, annoyance, anger, is something that goes along with tying your soul to another human being. Love is what keeps you pushing on together."

I stand there in silence, letting her words sink in. Wizard marriage bonds are broken only through death, and then still, a remnant clings to the soul. The thought terrifies me. On the other hand, even though they aren't always done anymore and I know Draco would never force me to add another unbreakable bond between us, there is also a hint of unrestrained excitement that follows the fear of the idea.

"I'm sorry if this is getting too personal-" she starts, but I interrupt.

"Nonsense. This is what I've been waiting for. It's about time you realized that I've put everything that happened between us behind me and you should too. This is the exact type of conversation we need to be having. I can't really talk to Harry about these things, it would seem strange. I need you back, Ginny," I tell her with a smile, pulling her into a hug.

I feel her arms tighten around me and it takes a moment to realize she's crying.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers.

"It's alright, Ginny. It's alright," I assure her.

* * *

By the time dinner is ready and everyone is sitting around the table, Ginny and I are a half giggling, half crying mess.

"Is everything alright here?" Draco asks, gesturing between the two of us.

"Everything is perfect," I reply, wiping the last of the moisture from my face and taking my place beside him.

"Good to hear?" Harry is very confused.

"Very good," Ginny tells him. "Now, let's eat."

I nudge Draco's leg under the table as I load a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes onto my plate.

"Not yet," he mutters.

I have to admit, I'm pretty excited for him. It's a big deal and I want him to know that there are others who are happy for him as well. I don't really understand why he is so nervous about saying it out loud when it's such a good thing.

I nudge him again and he completely ignores me, carrying on with his conversation about the latest Quidditch match with Harry. I roll my eyes and nudge him again with the toe of my shoe.

Draco looks at me like I'm insane before sighing.

"Fine," he agrees.

"What's going on over there?" Ginny asks from across the table.

"Draco has some very exciting news," I coax.

He clears his throat.

"It's really not that big of a deal," he says quietly.

"Of course it is," I assure him.

"I got a potions apprenticeship," Draco announces.

"That's so great!" Ginny exclaims.

"Good for you," Harry agrees with a smile.

It may not seem like much, but that apprenticeship is really a new start for Draco. It took a lot of time, effort and a terrible amount of stress for someone to accept a Malfoy into a program of any kind. Even the fact that it happened within these couple of months is amazing, and he was applying practically everywhere.

I made sure the media got it right about him after what happened. Kingsley even agreed to make a statement. But even though the world now knows about how Draco and Harry worked together to save me, it was still difficult to separate his new image from that of his family.

This apprenticeship is a start.

"You must be so thrilled!" Ginny says.

"I am. Honestly, it's what I've always wanted to do with my life," Draco admits.

"Well, it's definitely not what I saw Draco Malfoy doing," Harry shrugs. "I thought that slithering prick would end up in the ministry, a political snake. But, things change I guess."

"Wasn't the nicest child, was I? Just did like my father. Unfortunately, he wasn't the best of role models," Draco explains. "Potions is the one thing that's always brought me joy."

"I'm so happy for you," I tell him with a huge smile, giving his arm a slight squeeze.

"In that case, I propose a toast," Harry says, summoning the whiskey and pouring four glasses. "To Malfoy and his apprenticeship."

"To a new beginning," I add, raising my glass.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **So, there are a few things that I'm not quite sure about in this chapter, but it will have to do. This is the second story I've ever finished, so I have a tendency to not think it is ended well enough. I think the part with Ginny was a bit awkward, but at that moment, their relationship is a bit awkward. They both wanted to be friends again, but Ginny kept thinking of the past and everything that happened. It took real communication between the two of them for things to start their friendship back on track.**

 **If you have any feedback on how I can improve my endings, I would love to hear it. (Not saying I wouldn't also love to hear about if you liked it ;P)**

 **This is the end of my story.**

 **That is, unless people keep telling me to write more.**

 **But as of now, it's done!**

 **I know there are some open parts, but I hope it wrapped up most things.**

 **I want to thank everyone who has supported me through this story. I had a few constant reviewers who made this whole journey amazing. You made me stick with it and grow in my writing. Thank-you so much for taking the time to leave me some thoughts! You have no idea how much that has meant to me.**

 **Thanks you to everyone who has read, followed/favorited, and reviewed!**


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